Tag Archives: light

Sierra Thunderstorm

 

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Grass and Rain

 

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Not quite déjà vu, Saturday’s sun set under clear skies after another half-inch rain, illuminating the sycamores again, but with less intensity. This is the perspective I wanted for yesterday’s post, but by the time I got to this position, the light was gone. When you’ve got grass and rain, you’ve got time to think about other things.

 

Between Rains

 

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The light changes quickly after breaks in the weather. We had just received a half-inch of rain by Tuesday evening as the sun was setting behind the ridge. Overcast in the canyon but clearing in the valley west of us, the sun found a thin slot between the ridge and clouds to spotlight the sycamores along the creek, our dancing girls.

 

FOR RAIN

 

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Look to the sky:
bare oaks branched
upon uneven ridgelines
filigreed against
the promise beyond.

In the shadows
faces forgotten
re-inspect the man
I cannot change
from this distance.

Black and white,
dark and light
contrast youth
with age. The trail
is never straight

up the mountain—
granite rip-rap
and switchbacks
beside cold creeks
swept into rivers.

I believe the gods
ignore the pleas
of certain men,
prayers of the sure
and careless.

Look to the sky
for the wet gray rain
to wash this moment
before we start over
and over again.

 

 

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Autumnal Equinox 2015

 

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I don’t recall a more-welcome fall, this astronomical landmark when our daylight hours equal dark and night promises to last longer as we move towards the Winter Solstice. The sun slides south down the ridge, rising later, as sunset doesn’t hesitate, but literally falls into Antelope Valley just to the west of us.

We have endured the summer, we have endured four years of drought, as we enter that time of year when it might rain, bring green grass and fill the earth with moisture, bring water to our cattle. Wildlife walks with a different air, lingering longer in the morning. Coyotes and bobcats take their time as if they own this ground. Perhaps displaced by the Rough Fire, we’ve already seen more lions and bears than any year I can remember.

This is the time of year when our calves are born, the beginning of another cycle with the hope of rain, green grass, and fat calves, mornings and evenings by the fire. Just another day, but this is the one we have waited for.

 

AFTER DARK

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A boy’s bed upon the ground,
I stared at stars and wondered
if I was worth keeping alive

as I slept, if I could trust
the darkness to hold me
safe until morning—

looking up through
all the bright holes
of a rusty bucket sky,

connecting dreams
with a greater light
beyond the night—

I drew lines in the sky,
played dot-to-dot
instead of counting sheep.