ode to my new climate
After 2 months without rain and the realization that it will remain absent for another 4, I am startled to notice that all the small puddles of water I will see, lying on the concrete and asphalt, are entirely sprinkler generated.
I wonder if the migrating birds and sick horses around me are having the same thoughts. Are they, too, bewildered by the unwaveringly blue sky and the intense influx of solar radiation, which annually measures twice as much as the eastern United States?
A man naps on a trailer in the shade with a wide-brimmed hat pulled down over his eyes. He has the right idea. Is this all he has ever known? Dense groves of shrub-like trees strewn to and fro. Tiny butterflies hop on dry brown mulch, silhouetted by the rhythmic bursts of a sprinkler nurturing what ought to be wild poppies.
The water birds cluck, lured from their homes by the dammed up creek by the way. Off in the hills a dry brush awaits a cool breeze. Dark, barren patches of surrounding land leave no question of what looms on the horizon.
I wonder if the migrating birds and sick horses around me are having the same thoughts. Are they, too, bewildered by the unwaveringly blue sky and the intense influx of solar radiation, which annually measures twice as much as the eastern United States?
A man naps on a trailer in the shade with a wide-brimmed hat pulled down over his eyes. He has the right idea. Is this all he has ever known? Dense groves of shrub-like trees strewn to and fro. Tiny butterflies hop on dry brown mulch, silhouetted by the rhythmic bursts of a sprinkler nurturing what ought to be wild poppies.
The water birds cluck, lured from their homes by the dammed up creek by the way. Off in the hills a dry brush awaits a cool breeze. Dark, barren patches of surrounding land leave no question of what looms on the horizon.