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The keening, howling clamor
Wracks the canyon as the winds
Tear through. Crimson rocks stand
Stoically against the buffeting of red sand
And tiny pebbles that were once the
Very rocks themselves. Dust clogs
Holes where small creatures hide,
Waiting out the winds, blinking
To clear their tortured eyes.
The cactus shudder, roots dug in,
Determined to survive, and the
Tumbleweed are crazy in their
Frenzied dance.

Stabbing electric shocks the sky,
Crackling in its power, the roar
Of thunder soon behind, an awesome
Sound. The canyon knows the
Violence; the rocks know.
They wait

A huge drop of cool rain splatters
In the sand, then another
The clouds deluge forth their
Precious load, but not
With love. The spring rains
Slash down the canyon
Fueled by the lightning, vicious
In their path, mercilessly
Roaring down arroyos.
Dry earth seeks to hold
The precious drops as they
Rage towards the river.
Night falls, and the storm abates,
Moving east.

Daybreak. Lizard clings to his
Rocky perch, safe for now,
Awaiting the sun. Tiny roots
Awaken in time for their
Season of bloom.
The red rocks bask in the hot
Desert sun and the canyon
Smiles its blessing.

Learn more about this author, Linda Sorcie Smith.
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