A taste of rain tinkling in the downspout
too light to hear upon the metal roof,
yet under this common wet covering
her scent mends everything
for the moment, for another beginning
and we inhale it—lungs full of new life.
And when we pray, it’s to the Goddess—
mother, lover—for our sustenance,
for the bloom and fruit of flesh renewed
as the damp earth exhales, breathes easily
to taste each lingering drop
that settles upon its petaled tongue.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014, Ranch Journal
Tagged Dry Creek, flower-friday, goddess, photographs, poetry, rain, water, weather, wildlife
Carnival colors
reflected on a breeze—
Disneyland for a duck.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged American Widgeon, birds, Dry Creek, haiku, photographs, poetry, water, weather, wildlife
Dear Dawn, I await you in a cavern
of wet blackness, upstate exhaust hangs
between me and the suns and stars
of my reward, (or as far as I have seen
of infinity), as the dew from the last rain
clings to each unhealthy particulate,
camouflaged to look and feel like fog.
I have missed your smile, bright eyes,
and warm touch across the landscape
of my face, but we inhale this wet veil
holding clay slopes damp, moistening
each cotyledon struggling to break free
from the earth’s grip to make grass,
turn hills green with the circumambulation
of black dots—cows and calves grazing.
Another ugly day without you, feeding
hay in gray, but it ain’t all bad—
I’ll see you when I can. xxooxxoo, J.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014, Ranch Journal
Tagged bad air, Calves, cows, dawn, Drought, Dry Creek, feeding, fog, photographs, poetry, rain, water, weather
With rain upon the loose debris
of last year’s feed,
come first leaves of grass.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged Dry Creek, feed, grass, haiku, photographs, poetry, rain, red-stem filaree, Walt Whitman, water, weather
When the earth can be worked, they come
to investigate. Horses peer over fences,
cattle stare through barbed wire, but
the Roadrunners come in pairs like cops
on patrol inspecting changes to the ground
they claim, including us, without fear.
The quail fall out of the Live Oaks
well after dawn, tittering like children
late for school, gray coveys rolling
off the hill to graze new ways
to the water trough, and we claim them
all like family, one that gets along—
a sense of belonging greater
than ownership, taken root and proven
to be more than enough to feel secure.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged birds, Dry Creek, garden, Home, photographs, poetry, quail, water, wildlife
Now soft in places, red clay slick
feeding cows in the brown
bare flats beneath naked hills
loose piles of last year’s alfalfa,
each dry flake spaced to fall
into small green haystacks
where cows camp in an undulating
line within a cloudy chill
until this promise of grass
changes the color of everything
we have known for too long.
Looking down, plodding still,
eyes occupied with searching for
the first cotyledons to break free
from the crust, glad hands open
to the elements believing in more
good rains. Vote for those who know
growth without water won’t work.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged cows, Drought, Dry Creek, photographs, poetry, politics, rain, water, weather
Dark brown and naked after rain,
these hills have held together
despite their deep dust and our fears
after years of drought. Impossibly,
we even see a tinge of green
before the clouds clear the ridges.
Come alive and breathing, ready
to raise lush leaf and grass, they will
never be the same again in our eyes!
Nor we, forever worn by lack of moisture
on this earth and all across our minds—
growing closer and more grateful.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014, Ranch Journal
Tagged Drought, Dry Creek, photographs, poetry, rain, water, weather
Day and night comes much the same
as an evening of time—not ticked,
but slurred one word into the next
like a soloist might his octaves
into prolonged song. Soft and low
at first, a rumbling from a dusty
cave of lungs, a subtle clearing
of the passageways for all things
since the common miracle of rain.
Well-short of whole, she learns
to breathe again, her heartbeat sure
awakens color deep within her flesh
for the moment, and then the next
until she’s fit for more natural activities,
more normal rules for mortals to abide
in her simple service and generosity.
It’s an old tune we have forgotten,
a harkening of high notes for sopranos
and baritones to blaze before us
as she awakens. Dark or light, her each
new breath is ours come back to life.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged Drought, Dry Creek, Paregien Ranch, photographs, poetry, rain, water, weather, wildlife
We’ve been getting ready for a week—
cleaned the gutters and the woodstove,
stacked and corded oak and Manzanita,
brazed a soup bone with plenty meat
and vegetables, just in case the neighbors
drop by to watch it rain—some more.
Inch and a half overnight, we take
and release a deep, moist breath.
For all ingredients, just add water.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014, Ranch Journal
Tagged Calves, cows, Drought, Dry Creek, photographs, poetry, rain, Vegetable Soup, water
Blazing summer between calves,
grazing our world
with clean water to drink.
Posted in Poems 2014, Ranch Journal
Tagged cows, Drought, haiku, Paregien Ranch, photographs, poetry, water, weather
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