Writing

Quenched

This time
last year
I saw
withering,
water-starved
plants
everywhere—

their leaves
drooping,
turning brown,
even dying.

I felt
their pain.

Part of me
withered
with them.

But this winter,
it’s a different story—

now
we celebrate
the long-awaited
return
of abundant
rainfall.

The plants
drink in
cool, clear
water;

I drink in
the sight
of lush green leaves,

the scent
of moist dark Earth,

the sound
of flowing water.

We are
quenched.