There is a stillness
to heat, as if all
life is holding its breath
pulling moisture from
every pore, baking
life even from rocks.
We watch for the rains
each cloud a broken promise
life slowing
to less than a crawl
waiting, hoping
watching mirages
of rain in the distance,
rain that never arrives.
Maybe tomorrow, we whisper
maybe tomorrow…
Source of Inspiration 
Reblogged this on The Reluctant Poet.
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But eventually, rain does come! And till it does we learn to dig wells, seed clouds, bottle spring water…many things we learn and do! Both for a literal drought and a symbolic drought, a drought in our creativity.
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Yes, we certainly can. hugs, pat
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Nice view
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