Many Miles Away
Many Miles Away
The rumbling thunder said
the rain was many miles away.
The dry fields ached for the
slightest hint of moisture.
Everything that could be done,
had been done, the plowing,
the planting, the weeding,
the irrigation. Then the rain
had stopped. The irrigation
ditches dried and cracked,
leaving those dependent upon
them to bake in the unforgiving sun.
Hot, dry wind blew sandy soil
across the exposed roots of
a failing crop, dust limited the
visibility to one’s own situation.
The questions came, as they
always did, echoing from many
miles away, through many
generations, passing through
today. The whys and why nots.
The curses followed, of the land,
the heat, the drought, the
failing crop. The prayers came,
passing over dried lips, uttered
by swollen tongues, mumbled in
failing hope. And still the thunder
rumbled, the water laden clouds
roiled and taunted, the warm
moist wind blew across the
fields, a promise too
many miles away.
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