Summer falters, stumbles
into October with rumors
of rain, weak weathermen
wishes for a change,
not enough to start the green
nor mildew the old feed—
just a welcome change
for cattle and coyotes,
ground squirrels and us.
Manes and tails float
in a sky blue sea,
acorns and oak leaves
litter the landscape,
long shadows reach across
the canyon like ground
burnt by fire, cordwood
waiting under every skeleton
the drought has left behind.
drycrikjournal 
We’re in D3, here, with no end in sight.
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