Dark-thirty black under clouds,
it smells like rain—summer’s dust
settled, each particle swelling to stick
to the thirsty redwood rail,
to one another, to unite us
with each breath of hope
after years of drought, though
not a drop, not a sign of wet—
it’s there in the dark, damp air.
Yesterday’s reflection,
could it be the wheel
attracting wild attacks?
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014, Ranch Journal
Tagged birds, haiku, photographs, poetry, roadrunner, wildlife
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged Dry Creek, haiku, photographs, poetry, weekly-photo-challenge
Last light rising
on a bare yellow hillside
forsakes the dead Live Oak
shading the gossip rocks
where women talked
long before we came here.
Looking into the bigger picture,
who are these beasts
with a kind eye?
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged Calves, Dry Creek, haiku, photographs, poetry, Snake River Farms, Wagyu X
It begins with
what small device,
what detail rings
into a melody
unfolding?
The hint of cloud,
the breeze, the scent
that rallies synapses
to soar into song—
poor words dressed
in new clothes,
the common tongue
revived to reverberate
from the soil—
what small device?
What catalyst
will change our appetite
for more, what selflessness
will help us see
that more is before us
beneath our feet
to feed us all
the songs we need
to find humility
and awe?
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged California Buckeye, photographs, poetry, weekly-photo-challenge, wildflowers
Down the Sierra’s spine,
they sneak-in and loom,
cumulus over the ridgeline.
No storm clouds, but friendly.
We know now we’ll never be
the same, never assume
green feed and water
always. We will pray
in our own way, kneel
before the cotyledons
breaking through the clay,
stare rain in the eyes.
And when the chant of pagans
sing, we will make love within
soft petals of wildflowers.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged Drought, Dry Creek, photographs, poetry, rain, water, weather, wet seep monkeyflower, wildflowers
The air smells damp at first light
beyond the jagged silhouette of ridges
that frame my mind—no straight lines,
no ‘only’ connections between heaven
and earth as I glance up in disbelief
inhaling dark moisture around me.
First dew after a drought confounds
the senses armed for more hot and dry
and I want out—out of summer
and into pastures with the heifers
nursing their first calves. I follow
fresh coyote tracks in last night’s dust
to an isolated draw for yesterday’s newborn,
watching for motion among the boulders
and Blue Oaks that haven’t moved
in my lifetime, where the spring went dry
two weeks after we drilled our well
deep into the hardrock to artesian
a half-mile away. We had to trench
a pipeline back to the trough
from the pump—no straight lines
above or under this old ground
holding us together best it can—
and there I find them: fine.
We are tough enough to submit
to long days beneath a blazing sun,
wear mental armor, gnash our teeth
into lockjawed grins to get by, but
searching, ever-searching for new sign:
fresh proof that nothing stays the same.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014, Ranch Journal
Tagged Calves, cows, coyote, dew, Drought, Dry Creek, photographs, poetry, rain, water, weather, weekly-photo-challenge
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014, Ranch Journal
Tagged Calves, cows, Drought, Dry Creek, haiku, photographs, poetry, weather, weekly-photo-challenge
We are not sure anymore,
the sound and smell of it lost
to matters at hand without it,
so busy and mindful
of filling the void
best we can. The old saw
about not missing water
until the well goes dry
doesn’t cut the dust
settling nightly in my lungs,
in the corners of my eyes
and ears. I am not sure
of anything anymore
except that we would
welcome a change.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014, Ranch Journal
Tagged Drought, Dry Creek, photographs, poetry, rain, weather
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