Following fifty tons
through light showers
across Nevada,
big alfalfa bales
towards our dry
California home,
we focus on raindrops
streaking reality
after a week of poetry
and song, to feel
our poor possibilities
grow by the truckload—
heavy with an endless
emptiness in our bellies
beneath the straps
of seat belts
before another wreck.
We hang on.
drycrikjournal 
Big agrabuisiness over on the east side of the Cascades . . .Fields watered by water pumped out of the Columbia: love the smell of fresh cut alfalfa . . .
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Raindrops coming our way. *fingers crossed* for good soaking rains.
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That’s the best we can hope for, Angeline, a good, slow soaker to get some moisture back into these hills.
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