I step outside.
The humid, smarmy heat slaps my face,wraps around my body.
It is 85 or more. It is 7 am.
I start the sprinkler. A breeze blows through, cooling.
I acclimate and am quiet.
Now the air is pleasant. It smells of wet grass.
Birds come to the water. They land--swick, swick--on the feeder just 10 feet away.
The morning seems to exhale.
So do I.
Peace settles lightly, gently.
I will carry it with me through this day.
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2 comments:
Lovely.
This heat is getting to us all, I believe. I just spent quite a while composing a drought haiku for the upcoming Skywatch Friday.
While your post is cooling and evocative, I can't get mine to stop sounding whiney.
It will come. Beyond the drought, I was saddened by your photos of the pretty colored houses, a bright note on the landscape. Before there were so many people, Las Cruces was verdent, clover and grass growing between the avenues of pecans. Perhaps 50 years ago, those same houses would have had green lawns, some cosmos and hollyhocks, Mexican petunias and zinnias adding their own brightness. I love my desert. But I miss my green.
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