Drought

Our thirst was pervasive —
Never seen a June so dry —
But shallow water
Makes for good
Heron hunting.

And the sun caressed
Her cracked skin,
As I slipped out
On what had been
The marsh.
Watched egrets pass it by.

A sister slithered
In dust,
Reminding me
To look down.
Marsh wrens chattered
And the redwings
Swung lazy down
From the willow-watch.

We walked the whole way —
All of us —
And knelt, waiting
By the receding water,
Whispering
A prayer for rain.

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About Emily

I may or may not have: A. Dirt B. Ink C. Paint D. Wool under my fingernails.

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