I could barely stand to see the rhododendrons today.
We are nine inches short of rain in a drought this year,
and the drought follows the worst frost in decades.
The earth missed spring this year,
going right from winter
to a sickened summer that is
brown like fall in places,
bare like winter in places
and hot like the dog days in June.
Some of the world is green,
but some is brown and dying,
like the grass.
Today I took down the empty nest
that cats got to,
taking first one birdchild
and then the other three.
Not eating them,
I watched the parent bird start the nest,
and did not halt her hard work,
thinking she’d be safe that high.
I wish I had.
I missed my own spring
(people have them, too).
I’d thought to hit the ground running
when school was done.
But I got sick on the night the windstorm came.
(There has been wind, too.)
And if I am still sick or having some drought of my own,
I hardly know anymore.
The land and me we are both missing something.
Today I turned the hose on
stuck the nozzle on the stair
and by accident walked into the spray
which hit my neck.
Cold and wet! Good god.
It’s been forever since the world outside
gave me that sensation.
And I was reminded then
how it comes again, the good rain.
It always does.
In times of drought in earth or mind
all you can do is wait.
But plants and people
can both flower again when the time and the weather is right.