Thin veil of snow on the Kaweahs—
granite shows on peaks undressing.
The creek slows and disappears
as the thirsty earth drinks miles
from the river, puddled behind a dam
that will not fill the Valley’s furrows.
Tan medallions, last spring’s leaves
quiver from brittle fingers of oak trees
sprinkling green hills, giving centuries
of rainfall back as decomposing homes
for smaller survivors. It is not over
despite a forecast chance of rain—
dry seasons last, leave evidence only
years of floods can erase. Almost March,
the buzzards have returned early
circling an easy harmony of generations
gone—each clear voice rising,
we hear assurance and good advice.
Between the drought and the flooding we live such ordinary lives . . .
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We’re ready for an extraordinary change.
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This is one of my favorites, John. Yes, the voices of Nature carry the wisdom…if only we were better listeners to heed the advice.
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…and the voices of our fathers and grandfathers, and cultures before us in this place, with their assurances and stories that we remember now as we deviate drastically from regular routines and rules adapting to our circumstances with renewed confidence, tougher today than we were before. Glad you liked it 🙂
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