Virga line the horizon but there is no rain
only wind gusts that deposit layers of coarse
red dust. Virga tease with rain that never
falls, water that never flows. The desert
is too parched, the earth caked in a brittle
crust where heavy drops occasionally
pound the dust forming pits and craters.
Those depressions remain for months and
years, getting deeper after each cloudburst,
the pebbles rising to the top where a single
footstep can destroy them instantly.
Only the virga can promise water.
Emily is a retired teacher and writer of poems since college. She focuses on natural images as witnessed by an anonymous observer that reflect the human emotions. She often camps alone to get the most of the world around her. For her, the silence of outdoors is priceless.