Dry season is here,
there’s smoke on the horizon,
hoses near rooftops.
Some snow on the peaks,
June days thirst for its melting.
Rivers run weakly.
Spring’s flowers fading,
summer blooms still aborning.
Seedlings need water.
Red flowers open,
pomegranates in waiting.
We must make sun tea.
Pink roses whisper.
Bougainvillas scream color.
Pastels will enchant.
Epi’s bloomed briefly,
cactus flowers much the same.
I must call my Friends.
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