The Old Blog in the Desert

Passing shower, lightening, thunder,
Drench far-off balded nobs of granite,
Followed by unforgiving slanting sun,
Setting hills on fire with shining gloss.

In short-order, those same bare nobs,
Where rain evaporates before it puddles
Those lifted hills will forget halos glow
Burning a deep gray, brown and yellow.

Dry wind and dust, oppressive land,
Littered with fragments of dark rock,
Tossed like so much refuse, dropped
Following the creation of this world.

Glowing orb whitening an opened sky,
Glaring harsh across the Nevada desert
In search of remaining life, in struggle
For existence under its burning course.

Even for the little Red Tailed hawk,
The rattlesnake and the playa fool,
The Black Rock Desert by mid-July
Becomes a heat-scape best avoided.