After four years of the worst drought
in at least 1200 years,
the golden hills of the Golden State
were only passingly
golden this year, the dormant grasses,
instead, quickly shading
to a dun color that could have been
camouflage on concrete.
But yesterday when I took a walk up the
hill I climb nearly every day,
I looked out across the valley to Mt. Diablo
and almost gasped.
The hills are blushing green! December’s
one, lone heavy rainstorm
transformed the world as far as I can see,
awakening the grasses
(and me) from sleep. The wild grass, it seems,
believes in spring.
Though we need days of drenching deluges
and deep drifts in the Sierras
before this dusty parch of drought might pass,
the grass has faith.
It’s surprising how it sometimes takes just a little
to evoke a lot of hope.
Ann Keiffer
December, 2014
Image:John Keiffer
