on little cat feet and let it be a cliché,
but also let it curl around the trees
to remind them that the half-life
of a drought is not forever.
Let the redwoods remember this,
and let them dig deeper, and remember
to hold on, because the soil‘s parched throat
speaks of the ceaseless journey of rivers.
Trees I have known a lifetime,
turning brown with sorrow, let them not weep.
Let the rivers not forget their serpentine story,
whispering old secrets amid the rocks,
and the sand bars on that journey to the ocean.
Let the ocean assuage the shore like a cat
kneading her paws on your lap.
Let my tears join the saltiness of the ocean.
Let the cat curl up on the doorstep,
and wait on the windowsill to greet the sun.
Let the sun rise above the billowing fog
and let the trees sing, let them sing
of the coming rain.
8/31 Terri Glass Write On!
