Rolling a lucky 7


it has been a season of biblical plagues
After 177 days of baked torture.
Endless Back-breaking 
corn-killing 107 degree days,
Rachel’s rain arrived in Colorado.
Such winter nor summer heat is seen 
in a land known for skiing
 white capped mountains.

I checked the new online farmers almanac.
It’s never been this hot.
Even during the dustbowl years.

Still, the rain misbehaved,
it roiled west from Topeka and Tulsa
moving impossibly uphill
leaping as far as the burned forest hillsides
Turning roads into rivers of
ash, soot, smoke, and charcoal trees

Still awake at 1 am.
I wanted to drink in rare rain sounds
Of an all night soaker.

I think i could hear

Foot tall July corn
Shortened by drought
stretch to trickle 
Every drop along razor sharp leaves.

I could hear  the robins and blackbirds
In the cotton woods on the edge of night
Impossibly nocturnal,
twirling  a beloved intraspecies   rain song
In a moonless monsoon.

http://voices.washingtonpost.com/capitalweathergang/2010/06/the_heat_waves_of_the_1930s.html

3 comments

  1. ah….yes….hallelu! I slept with the rain whispering in my open window, woke and rose quickly to see the new green, the tomatoes standing with more confidence, the pumpkin and squash reaching wider. It took a week for pacific northwest rain to follow me here, but it is a long drive after all.

    love the impossibility of the images, the last three lines. Thanks for adding your song to theirs!

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