Tag Archives: rain

WAITING FOR THE STORM

Posted on March 12, 2025 by | 3 comments

Early spring garnish
before a mid-March rain,
wild colors claiming

lush shades of green
that cattle finish grazing
by eight o’clock.

Everybody feels
what’s coming,
despite the sunshine—

despite the rattling
of sabers
from would-be kings.

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Posted in Photographs, Poems 2025, poetry, Ranch Journal

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ADDENDUM

Posted on February 14, 2025 by | 3 comments

Dim light above the kitchen table,
wet wedding rings beneath ceramic coffee cups,
shod horses fidget in the aluminum gooseneck
outside before daylight.

“Are Bud and Monte comin’?”
“Nope, just you and me, Babe,” he grins
showing teeth beneath his moustache.

“Any stars?” she asks. “It’s s’posed to rain,
you know, sometime today.”

“A few holes in the clouds is all,”
as he looks up at the ceiling.

“With a little luck
we ought to make it up the hill
before it gets slick,
get the cattle down
and be home by the fire
before it gets too wet.”

After a pause and long swallow, she asks,
“You know what day it is?”

“Thursday, I think”

“Is that all?” she lets trail on her way to the sink.
“Oh, I’ll be goddamned:

Happy Valentine’s Day!”

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Posted in Photographs, Poems 2019, Ranch Journal

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Half-Inch

Posted on February 5, 2025 by | 2 comments

Far from the advertised Atmospheric River forecast, we are grateful for the much needed moisture overnight. Just a sprinkle when Robbin took this photograph yesterday evening as sunshine leaked through the approaching clouds.

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SUNDAY

Posted on December 30, 2024 by | 1 comment 


Light rain like fog
gray in the canyon
closes the world away—

privacy to contemplate
the prolonged moment
that asks no questions

of the no one
you have become
among the mountains.

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Posted in Photographs, Poems 2024, poetry, Ranch Journal

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SOLSTICE 2024

Posted on December 22, 2024 by | 2 comments 

Last year’s fine hair,
dry and hollow-stemmed
screens renewed green

sheltered in rocks
that once were one
mind, one set of eyes

to record the wild cycle
of new roots from old
seeds of life — hope

and grace apart
from the rubble 
of mankind.


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Posted in Photographs, Poems 2024, poetry, Ranch Journal

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FREE LABOR

Posted on December 21, 2024 by | 3 comments 

First rain
the gophers clean their houses,
stack tailings high

where the Great Blues wait,
stand like statues,
like soldiers across the pasture

for the slightest movement
of well-worked mounds
to stab a meal—then toss it up,

catch open-beaked
and let it slide
down a snaky neck.

My father loved them,
loved the fact
they were working for him.

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Posted in Photographs, Poems 2024, poetry

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DECEMBER SYCAMORES

Posted on December 11, 2024 by | 1 comment 


                A little rain,
                a little green,
                a little cold

short of a December freeze

	        my girls dress
	        in fiery colors
	        along the creek trickling 

before winter’s strip-tease:
long limbs reaching
from the clothes at their feet.

Some trees have drunk
more than they can hold,
dropping limbs on fences—

but nimble and sylphlike,
they have shown a millennium 
a glimpse of sensual grace.



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Feeding

Posted on November 30, 2024 by | Leave a comment

 

It’s chilly in the morning (40s), foggy in the Valley after the 1.81” we received from the tail of the Bomb Cyclone earlier this week.  Normally, the ridge between Dry Creek and Antelope Valley keeps the fog out, allowing more sunshine for our fresh cotyledons. What a beautiful day, the sycamores are turning as winter knocks on the door.

 

We’ve been feeding lots of alfalfa trying to keep the cows with calves and replacement heifers in shape enough to cycle before breeding.  We’re in the process of getting the bulls out now.  With no forecast rains, we’ll begin branding soon.

 

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CLICHÉ

Posted on November 27, 2024 by | Leave a comment 

Among the old timers
I tried my hand at similes
after a good slow rain

when it was warm and wet enough
to start the grass, they'd say
“thick as hair on a dog’s back.”



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SLOW IN–SLOW OUT

Posted on November 26, 2024 by | Leave a comment 

1.

Honed peaks and ridges 
cut the clear blue sky 
and lagging cumulus rising 

between storms, 
as we await the tail 
of a Bomb Cyclone

predicted for our metal roof
with coffee before daylight—
or so we pray.


2.

Slow in—slow out.
Gray clouds clinging
to the hillsides,

four hundredths all day—
58 high,
52 low after 

an all-night soaker 
with little runoff
to start the grass.


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