Until the past few days, we’ve had a very dry spell. Too many months. Lots of the grasses and many trees are brown. All of the hemlocks (not the conifers) are dead. The lack of rain has affected us all. Emotions ran close to the surface - mostly desire. The smallest gesture rippled across our surfaces. Day after day I carried water to the garden. My back and my time made me a thoughtful water bearer. I could not carry enough to the trees and I only hope that they will remember other lean years. I have tried to write but the drought has taken away my words. It is like a period of celibacy by choice and then by chance and then by mishap. Each cloud caressed with increasingly cruel gestures. Day after day the clouds would flirt with us, linger on the horizon. Foreplay beyond reason.
the day the rain finally came
i stood outside
had to take off my clothes
with my arms to the sky
alive
feeling
cold
rain
drop
on
my
skin
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