Water from Heaven
The draught vanishes
as dry stream beds
become raging torrents.
On the hillside
cactus flower
to close when normalcy returns.
Those used to sunshine and heat
dance in the bucolic shower.
The sprinklers spray and spurt
oblivious to the falling rain.
Mountains hide in dark shrouds
blind for a day.
For the moment
the dry earth is quenched.
Weeks will pass
before the life-giving water returns.
The dancers’ steps slow
waiting for the moments
to mount their bikes
or put on their hiking shoes
to savor the renewed earth.
Comment: When I wrote this poem, there had been little rain. However, the brief showers I wrote about continued making August and September two of Utah's wettest months. The wetness allowed the deep reds on the trees to come into full fruition.
Time
Seated, sipping,
the Swiss chimes
ring their melody.
It’s 90º.
Time to ride.
Comment: Another piece capturing the moment. Written while at the Galleria.
Autumn Breakfast at the Galleria
Alone, no one willing
to brave the chill.
On days of warm
the tables fill with patrons–
a boisterous buzz in the air.
Soon Jessica delivers the steaming tea
that warms the bones.
Across the street
Swiss chimes announce
the arrival of 9 a.m.
A brisk ride to follow
where thoughts of summer return
despite the snow powdering the peaks
hinting of the deep cold to come.
As with life,
no matter how hard one tries to change,
the seasons come and go.
Comment: Obviously, the poem is more than about an autumn ride.