Limbs dressed in flames, they await the cloudburst that will disrobe them to stand naked and undulate along the creek until it runs— until late spring. Our chorus line of winter nymphs, centuries rooted in the same place, I stare into their fire and pray for rain. 0.29"
drycrikjournal 
That sort of disrobing would be welcomed, wouldn’t it?
janet
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I’ll try to remember to photograph these girls in all their glory after the cloudburst arrives.
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