For days, nothing to say,
as we wait for rain, like always
in the dust we stir,
both wild and tame.
Cow trails deep and soft,
Chinese scrolls of pad and hoof
pressed into silent verse
moving freely in the dark.
Coyote, bobcat, rattlesnake,
bear, deer and mountain lion
leave their poetry at night
to be erased each day.
Billowing from behind the barn before dawn
rising, clouds hang and drift, coat everything
as saddle horses wake to play over fences
in August, when there is no dew nor brittle stems
to cling to. Expectant mothers waddle to the water
trough, dragging their feet in soft, deep powder
pounded fine enough to float, to trail behind them.
Within the Palo Verde’s safe thatch of thorny limbs,
the reveille of quail brushing dreams from their eyes
before their morning march to the rock pile
in the middle of the bare horse pasture—even
the tiny feet of laggards catching-up stir the dust.
The first dry leaves lift in a swirl of weather changing,
distant premonitions that stir the flesh to ask
if the stage is set to settle this ever-present dust
In a cloud, horseplay rising
from a two-year drought—
time to feed to breathe.
WPC(4) — “Refraction”
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014, Ranch Journal
Tagged Drought, Dry Creek, dust, haiku, horseplay, photographs, poetry, water, weekly-photo-challenge
You ask me now,
in this moment, waited
for my full attention
which I have refused,
too preoccupied with each rich
My patient other voice,
ever-reasonable and calm,
ready for a pause
to pose the obvious, weigh
the load and look
at the short end of my string.
But I am busy listening
to my call carry across Greasy,
to cows bailing off the far ridge
leaving dust trails in trees,
to the diesel’s purr
beside me, promising hay.
To their slow plod up—
they trust that we
will do as we say.
Native generations rise
at water, hoof and pad,
inhaled at dawn.
Weekly Photo Challenge (1) “Between”
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged Drought, dust, Greasy Creek, haiku, Indian Ground, Natives, photographs, poetry, water, Yokuts
We rise to dust we stir,
greet dawn with a cigarette
to clear our lungs.