Of this earth and all its erosion,
its granite and baked clay slopes
alive with cycles of seed and grass,
we revel in its wet bounty
and die a little in dry hard times.
We have become the cows we raise
in time, generations of calves that stayed
to nurse another—this earth their home.
We are the strong and lucky ones
to be living in the middle of a miracle.
drycrikjournal 
This is really beautiful John – enjoyed it !! sally Date: Fri, 6 Jun 2014 12:24:33 +0000 To: cowboy.connection@hotmail.com
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Thanks, Sally. Tough as things have been of late, it could be much worse. I woke up this a.m. wanting to count our blessings. We could be punching a clock.
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Nice!! 🙂
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Thanks, H.J.
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You know I was his age when you took photos of me in the wildflowers there, 35 years ago. What a gift to share the tradition with your grandson (who, given my medical history, is a bit of a miracle himself). Love this. Thank you!
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You’re welcome, I like it too! 🙂
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Poignant, gorgeous, words and photo both.
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Really appreciate your visits and comments, Babsje. And when the rains do decide to revisit us this fall (I hope), we shall see how resilient this ground can be—our prolonged state of awe—in the middle of a miracle.
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And I like how you share that miracle with your family and your readers. My own daughter doesn’t appreciate herons and hates kayaking, and so I can’t share those passions with her. Maybe the next generation, though.
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Thanks, Babsje. Brown or green, it’s so easy to pass the ground beyond our barbed wire by, focused on a destination and the narrow road, most folks can’t imagine, or appreciate, how it teems with a wild diversity of life. Usually referred to in EPA documents as ‘unimproved’, or worthless, we’re happy to share what’s here.
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