Not far from here, wet-haired calves
wake beside their mothers, bellies dry
where they’ve warmed the earth

and they will nurse before the bunch
grazes the tops of ridges, damp clay
hillsides soft between their toes.

We didn’t ask for much more
than a heavy dew after a month of dry
to keep the grass alive, didn’t beg

or pray or dance before our gods—
but waited stoically as dead-standing
oaks reflected in our eyes.

Old children with hardened hides,
we have been disciplined by years
of drought and disappointment,

we wait and weigh our options
with rain enough to last a week—
hope enough to last a lifetime.


3 responses to “ELEVEN HUNDREDTHS

  1. Love it!! Especially the hope.
    We got about 1/4″ inch of snow here yesterday afternoon into the night. It was 21 degrees and clear at 5:30 AM. I couldn’t get the barn door latch open to feed the horse. Frozen shut. Now it is warmed by the sun and he has his breakfast a couple of hours late. The sun is warm and everything is dripping. It will probably all be gone by noon. Did you get anything wet?
    Weather report from Cool, in the Sierra foothills.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Thanks for the report from there. Wishing you salve for those hardened hides.


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