Abandoned hay rake resting
in the sycamores has not moved
in my lifetime, unless with silt
under floods that rose against them
when farming across the creek
didn’t pay. How long have they
danced, changing clothes, adding
and subtracting limbs, courting
the moment to begin again?
Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you
can contain.
– Kahlil Gibran (“On Joy and Sorrow”)
I continue to find new splendor to color our current drought apart from its impact to our cattle and bank account. Not only is the determination of Nature exhilarating, but with it comes a rare glimpse of beauty in these bare hills.
November 10, 2013
Twenty-five degrees as a community of California Valley Quail stay busy in the first rays of sunlight.
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