Dry Lake

Rain lurks behind clouds too thin to send drops, puddles, surging waves. flash floods go north, to green Seattle, easy landfall, where no resistance is ever given by sandy bottom or rocky shore. There the ancient desert lies beneath tons of breathless redwood, dreaming of hot, days, dry winds. Oh Emerald City, so unaware of the pain and joy of drought, endless blue days of aching sky, summer's harsh eye in January glaring as slim clouds rush by hopeful of a shower, only to evaporate to dusty twisters.