The scent of dampened dust
settling with the first fine drops
envelops us in wind gusts,
all the loose atoms of death
over eons of friction bonding,
fusing into new shapes of life
as we inhale and taste it, sip
like musty red wine begging
release—lungs and capillaries
surge to rejuvenate the flesh
with the promises of fresh
beginnings, another chance
to chase seasons of grass
with a new crop of calves
who’ve never seen rain,
never smelled the green.
Swept up grinning, we raise
a glass into the endless gray.
drycrikjournal 
Well described John. Our seasons are different than other places. Our new shoots come up with the fall rains. Spring is the usual time to celebrate new greenery, but here, as the California gold turns to lush green we raise our glass to the fall rains.
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