The Dry Season

All day long I watch the blue sublime sky
With its perfect clouds
And the rain that fades into nothing halfway down.
The wind blows, every day, all the time,
Though not without variety: yesterday blowing hard,
Today blowing harder.

My Chinese windbells tinkle
like spirits in bracelets all morning,
at noon, all afternoon and all through
the flat dead hours of the night.
we’re not complaining, just stating the fact.
(Your lips are dry and cracked, sweetheart,
your eyes are red, and breathing’s hard.)

Good God, we need some rain.

Perhaps I should light my signal fire
In the crater of the old volcano,
Beat the drum, begin my little dance...?

I don’t know. It’s the dry season,
the pine needles crackle under my boots
like raw spaghetti,
dust rises at every step, the wind
drives it into my face;
the fire danger is rated EXTREME.

The flowers wait, curled in their buds,
and even the cactus hesitates to bloom.

Rain! Christ, give us some rain.

All day long we stare at the beautiful sky
with its beautiful, perfect clouds...

-Edward Abbey