Highway to Hoeftland

We get four inches of rain per year.

It’s dry and dusty here

In the Mojave Desert.

I watch the tumbleweed roll on by,

From the window,

In this empty room.

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The hot sun beats down.

The stucco cracks, my skin cracks, but I don’t crack,

A smile.

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It’s so bright—always so bright

In the Desert.

Except for today.

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Today, I see the clouds coming.

The rain droplets start falling.

The precipitation starts pouring,

Down from the grey, grey sky.

“Bye, sun, good-bye.”

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I smile now,

Because today will be different.

I open up a window,

So that I can hear the rain falling,

And breathe in that fresh, cool air.

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I think about my childhood home,

Where the rain was plentiful,

And when rooms were full of family.

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One day

I moved away

From the rain.

I chased sunshine,

And clear days.

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I must say,

I found the sun shining brightly

Here in the Desert,

Where rain is rare.

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“Blue skies sure are pretty,” I muse, to myself.

As I watch the tumbleweed roll on by,

From the window,

In this empty room.

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I miss the rain.