When the sweet monsoon in the afternoon sweeps down from mountain to plain
And the hard-baked crust of caliche dust darkens int eh welcome rain
The snakeweed there, by the coyote’s lair, glows bright with a sudden green…
From the sides of the hills run myriad rills… stony mesas show a silvery sheen.
Tiny trickles gather to a foaming lather while lightning tears at the sky
Great anvil cloud speaks thunderous loud… sudden wind flings small birds by.
The waters full of gravity’s pull become a raging force…
Crashing through and around brush, stone and ground ’til they find the arroyo’s course.
Then the rising sound, stones rumble and pound, the rain falls thick and hard…
The arroyo fills wide, all rush and slide ‘neath thunder’s ceaseless bombard.
Then ’round mountain’s flank, clouds roll and bank, slide away over mesa tops…
Thunder and lightning, now distant, not frightening… birds call, the rain slows… then stops.
And then, from the west, over ridge’s crest, the sun breaks in a broad, shining band.
In the hush and the still, plants drink their fill… the water slows… then sinks in the sand.
Jerry Faires
New Mexico