Azure ridge after ridge unfold
into a swirl of storm clouds leaving,
as if heaven sent, wrapping hidden
peaks of scree with snow, thirty miles away
from this conflagration of cottonwoods,
willows and sycamores below. I look
up the throat of the Kaweah for a sign—
hoping, praying, as we begin again,
for grass-fat calves through spring.
I’m not sure which I like better – the poem or the photo. An abundance of riches today.
Me either. Just an early morning moment with my camera chasing color. Cheers.