It hadn’t really rained for years. The garden, neglected for weeks while we packed, is parched; the hose no longer trickles into the hand-dug furrows surrounding wilted tomato plants… (Is this how they make sun dried tomatoes?)
Heat waves ripple before me as I search the canyon for our dogs… or maybe a random coyote. We used to have chickens but they are gone now. Should have instituted coyote-watch sooner. Like a mirage, the days shimmering before me are ending. Even the birds have packed up and moved on, taking their song, taking life. The silence is foreboding. Will this place, a place that was once ours, once loved and nurtured, will this piece of earth miss the hands that brought it to life? Will it ever be nourished and cherished again?
We move on in the pursuit of something different, something “other;” and to observers we appear oblivious to the lives we leave behind – as we leave San Diego; as we head north. (I’ve heard it rains in the Pacific Northwest. Interesting concept.)
Summer shimmers
This ground is dry – thirsty for water
Who will tend this piece of earth now?
We thirst for something, something different and with
Never a glance back,
We move on…north,
and leave all behind.
There is a new season coming, a new direction…
It hadn’t really rained for years…
Never at a loss for words... 