How much that we do, is in hope of something else?
The moon is full,
Seed heads hang heavy on stalks of grass,
Leaf growth is slow.
It's hot.
August, like march, promises much.

How often are we disappointed?
How often does September come, like April,
with not enough rain,
or to much?

  We tie flies in summer, dreaming of winter fish.

During lambing
in the spring,

We tie flies, dreaming of summer steel head.

  Now in late summer I irrigate fields, in hope of fat fall lambs.

High prices/Lbs. on the hoof, and enough water in the creek to hold us till the rain comes.

In farming, we live in hope.

Prayers have become pertinent,

And we are not far removed from the inconceivable divine.