Wind rises, shaking the clover heads
into some crowded congregation, swaying
with the choir, shouting out the amens.
Clouds lower and green goes to yellow,
ordinary colors awash with reflected light
from the coming storm that will build
but never break. Drought creeps between
the cornrows, stunts squash and eggplant,
blows dust between the soybeans, erases
the banked water of late spring when the
old ones forecast a good year. Now we wait
as the front passes, wind almost stealing hope.
By Pat Anthony
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