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
Dogs bark into the early morning blackness,
up-canyon scent of something feline, half-bayed
young lion in the oaks to rock piles arched—etched
in their minds, they become a pack of oddities
standing-off coyotes, rousting coons from the garden,
escorting possums and skunks—we know their bark.
Your Beagle inheritance, inside fat, old and waddling,
following his nose to new frontiers beyond a life
on the couch, instincts fired to chase and bay
sharp claw or teeth he’s never dreamed before,
barks in his sleep—deep furrows in his derrière.
The dark stranger, jumpy, blockheaded Queensland
slinks and investigates the far water trough
every evening for smells—fell out of a cowboy
pickup and moved-in waiting to be found
likes his soft outside bed more than anything. Just
how they admire your Border Collie Jack-the-Good-Dog
keeps them lined-out circling the house.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014, Ranch Journal
Tagged dogs, Dry Creek, garden, Paregien Ranch, photographs, poetry, water, wildlife
The trailing end of a storm front that brought heavy rains to the Pacific Northwest lingered along our Sierra Nevada foothills all of yesterday, keeping temperatures in the mid-70s beneath dry, but fairly constant, cloud cover. The below-60° chill lasted well into the morning, a winter feel that made us want a fire. A near-perfect day as Robbin was playing and singing a Nanci Griffeth song in the other room while I was at my desk.
Humor us:
With the weather change, testosterone levels down at the bull pen (Go Giants!) have elevated a notch leaving me substantial fence to fix after they ostracized a young bull into our buffer zone between the cows and calves. Though he was the loser, he had found his way to the cows nevertheless, 30 days early — leaving a another job for today after we finish feeding.
The Internet weather prognosticators are still holding to fair chance of a 1/2-inch rain for Halloween:
Until then, we wish it would rain.
Posted in Ranch Journal
Tagged "I Wish It Would Rain", bulls, Calves, cows, Drought, Dry Creek, Nanci Griffeth, rain, water, weather
Remember when it used to rain
and we made clouds of our own,
when the dryads played quietly
upon the dampened dust beyond
the bare boughs of oak trees?
The earth came alive with birdsong,
hawks soared in circles crying
with delight and we watched—
once again believing in deities.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged birds, Drought, Dry Creek, dryad, dryads, oak trees, photographs, poetry, rain, water, weather, wildlife
In a cloud, horseplay rising
from a two-year drought—
time to feed to breathe.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014, Ranch Journal
Tagged Drought, Dry Creek, dust, haiku, horseplay, photographs, poetry, water, weekly-photo-challenge
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014, Ranch Journal
Tagged Calves, cows, Drought, Dry Creek, garden, haiku, photographs, poetry, water, weekly-photo-challenge
So bare, this pasture, you can
see a ground squirrel running
at 300 yards, just ahead
of his light-brown dust trail
streaming to join the dirty air.
Much fewer now with no grass
since their bumper crop last spring,
no place to hide but in a hole
from coyotes, bobcats and hawks.
So bare, these hillsides rising
in dawn’s first light, silhouettes
of cows and calves in clouds
walking off the tops of ridges,
ambling from the high stubble
towards the only water
for a mile along the creekbed
of dry sand and cobbles, sycamores
dressing early for Halloween.
Sixty years ago, an old man
with dirty hands and hat,
bib overalls and grease
whittled a willow-fork
to show me how and where
he was going to drill.
Posted in Poems 2014, Ranch Journal
Tagged Calves, cows, coyote, dirty air, Drought, Dry Creek, ground squirrel, poetry, water, weather, wildlife
