We know where we are in the West
waiting for a rain, chasing forecasts,
feeding hay, thinking about praying
to gods and goddesses alike,
to the floating spirits, the old parts
of the whole soul that dwells here
with you and me, and with the souls
of dear helping hands on this dry ground
cut by canyons and grazed by our family
of cows—our circle of souls surround us
waiting for a rain. A faith so
commonplace, we take it for granted.
drycrikjournal 
Beautiful shot and poem, John. Hope that rain comes soon.
janet
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