A young man’s pastoral dream
of forever meadows sprinkled with cattle
was still possible with work and rain,
with the right people and partner
to hold it, and one another, together
humbly yielding to the dry years,
the brown leaves of families:
old oaks dotting the hillsides
before saying goodbye—
before me now in a light rain upon
the green as I step gladly into it
to check the rain gauge.
drycrikjournal 
My dad grew up on a Nebraska farm and when he and my mom moved to Arizona many, many years later, he always checked the rain gauge after each rain, small or large.
janet
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