The hills have sepia toned shades

Of browns and yellows and dotted

With the dusty green of ancient oak.

Tree branches hang limply

With dry crunchy leaves mottled

In shades of dying.

The ground beneath my feet

Is cracked and open with wisps

Of grasses and parched plants long dried out.

Around town, green lawns and lush flowering plants in front yards have

Been replaced with dry scape designs requiring little or no water.

We parse out our water on a daily basis for our basic needs.

And we wait in silent prayer and remember the lush fertile days of

Moist earth with brimming lakes and streams and abundant water for all

Living things.