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Snow after drought

Aspen Alley in the fall

 

Snow settles on ground

left thirsty by months of drought,

now kissed by moisture.

homestead cabin on Box Creek

Dudley Creek aspens

 
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Posted by on October 10, 2018 in Nature and Wildlife, Poetry

 

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Open winter; February thaw

This must be the February thaw.
It follows the January thaw, except
not much snow fell between
Aquarius and Pisces.

How will we know Spring?

Heifers on dry ground

Heifers on dry ground

she thinks she's hiding

she thinks she’s hiding

 

 

 

 

 

As storms pound the East Coast, and snow in Boston piles up, we watch our drifts melt away. We depend on snow for winter water for the sheep, and to bring summer moisture for everything. At Powder Flat, all our livestock are watering at reservoirs and wells.

 

 

 

The ewe lambs and old ewes still have a little snow below Lower Powder Spring

The ewe lambs and old ewes still have a little snow below Lower Powder Spring

The purebred ewes watering at Powder Flat

The purebred ewes watering at Powder Flat

The ewes watering below the Spring

The ewes watering below the Spring

Reflections

Reflections

leaving the water hole

leaving the water hole

through the waterhole fence

through the waterhole fence

Apolinario and Pat talk about water, with input from the dogs

Jean Carlos and Pat talk about water, with input from the dogs

Siobhan, Pat and Maeve

Siobhan, Pat and Maeve

 

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Stolen kisses

Sunset, December 29, 2012

Sunset, December 29, 2012

Snowflakes brush like kisses
stolen as Old Man Drought
looks the other way
not seeing sweet soft touches
that fall like caresses
filling the spaces
where dry has slowly,
inexorably pushed and sucked
and laid bare the rise and fall
of landscape.

Snow falls and falls
and fills the thirsty land,
the creekbeds and ponds,
the rills and runs of arroyos
dry so long,
now filled with promise
of flood and flash and
a possible future
of spring grass.

A spring that could be
green with feed
for those who hunger–
grasses fed by winter snows
that kiss the earth with wet
and the promise of rain.

Maybe drought’s doom
will not curse us forever.
Maybe these snowflakes
sent like kisses, wet brushes
against our cheeks
portend a promise
of green and grass
and prosperity.

A lover’s kiss.
Take that
Old Man Drought.

 
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Posted by on December 29, 2012 in Nature and Wildlife, Poetry

 

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