No trace, no drizzling mist—
she will really have to rain
into the night into the dawn
into the draws into the creek
into a rising frothy broth for weeks
to address our growing list of jobs
unfurled, saved for a rainy day.
We’ve emptied the barn: ‘making
hay while the sun shines’ available
to hungry cattle far too long
to remember all the work postponed
to keep them alive—the basic
little jobs that maintain the machinery
runs smoothly, heart and mind
intact. But first, the oil and grease
to lubricate the old joints: time
to rejoice and celebrate, to marvel
with the miracle of a rainy day.
drycrikjournal 
John – thanks for following my One Day | One Image blog, and for posting a link to my other blog The Poetry of Photography on your site>
And this poem: I could smell dust when I read it….
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