Sometimes there are floods, sometimes there is drought
The clouds gather
and the sky looks like rain might come
it will either flood
or the fierce winds
which travel unimpeded across the hundreds and hundreds of kilometres of
prairie
deforested boreal
overworked land
the soil in my own little back yard,
not even weeks after the last snow has melted
cracks open
like earthen lips reaching for water
the thirst is written in the asemics of
rivulets and chasms
pathways appear
as the earth opens itself to absorb any moisture it possibly can
the dirt hardens into pebbles
hardens around what little moisture it has
how can anything grow here?
The clouds gather
it will either flood or blow by
the wind is merciless
