After the biting winds
The icy, treacherous streets
Months layered in hats and mittens
We picnicked under leafless trees
Walked barefoot on winter grass
Reveling in warmth and sunshine.
Snow melted from high peaks
Clear blue skies assumed a threatening sameness.
Where were our soft spring snows?
Then the fires began,
Consuming forest, homes and lives
And we, like Dust Bowl farmers
Gazing at barren fields
Like Kenyan villagers tending famished cattle
Gaze helplessly at the smoke-hazed horizon
Longing for snow
Praying for the rain.