Posted by: indiesfaves | February 24, 2011

Our land of little rain

Our land of little rain[i]

As the Earth becomes more inhospitable and difficult to survive in, perhaps we may find us a path to sweet water then again, might not. This is a place where marginalized Indians, Mexicans, and women struggle to speak their voices, yet only the howls of coyotes can be heard. Cackling and vying for alpha positions. It is there where the voices that held knowledge spoke and it is where grandmothers lived.  It is a land where water flows in a ditch or it doesn’t.  Where the water is in the plants, trees and the rocks, and it is brokered, brokered like our relationship to Earth and Sky that is so familiar in the West.  Our land of little rain where clouds fly by yet keeps their gifts for others. It rains so hard with never touching the ground or pours so violent it drowns with the deluge of mud, turbid and rank. Taste the salty sweat bead as it passes over our lips all the while longing for sweet water.  It carries with it the snow, the ice or the fire and heat it is that which flows, blood, water and life.

Our land of little rain. Must we move or stay, without rain, there is no life.

[i] Inspired by Mary Austin


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