Quenching Thirst

Rising humidity threatens snow,
and everything here reaches upward
as if singing “I’m thirsty” in chorus.
 
Pink haze darkens the sky before noon.
At the feeders, birds crack seeds open and
sit on the dry fountain, turned off ‘til spring.
 
The parking lot spreads out, car hoods ready
for rain or snow, tires patiently waiting
for drivers to weigh down the front seats.
 
Beyond the cars, the brown meadow reaches
back to trees whose stretching bodies and bare
limbs are not yet fuzzy with spring colors.
 
A flake, two, 20 drops on cheeks and hands
and hair, and the threat becomes a promise—
a light snow starts painting everything white.
 
White everywhere in service to nature,
adding to the water supply.  Asking
nothing in return.  For thirsty earth, a gift.

 For Sherry's prompt "Landscapes" at What's Going On? 

My blog poems are rough drafts.

Please respect my copyright.

© 2025 Susan L. Chast