“Bless the poets, the workers for justice, the dancers of ceremony, the singers of heartache, the visionaries, all makers and carriers of fresh meaning. We will all make it through, despite politics and wars, despite failures and misunderstandings. There is only love.” — Joy Harjo

This winter, it rained in California.
The downpour temporarily reversed a decade of devastating drought.
The result: a superbloom. Fields and hillsides awash
with California poppies, suncups, milk thistle and goldfield,
so vast and dazzling that they can be seen from space.
Many of the seeds have lain dormant for years,
waiting for the right conditions to come.

I’ve never been to California,
but I try to imagine the colours,
the oranges and the yellows and the seas of gold.
And I dream that we are the seeds sleeping in the soil.
That we are the women dancing and praying for rain on the mountainside.
That we are the beautiful colours returning to the fields.
And that the right conditions are coming,
because we are the rain.

Thank you for reading 🧡 My book of poetry, The Honey in the Bones, is available here. You can also connect with me on facebook or on my website