One Hundred and Twenty-two Days

Cold gray day, holding no promise of rain.
Pale brown soil stirs as I walk, dusty leaves
Crunch under my feet. I pull my jacket closer.
Desert trees in late winter, stark and dark-barked
Against the milky sky.
So many dry days now, a record, leaving everything thirsty
waiting for rain that doesn't come.
Around the next bend, cacti blooms fuchsia, some red;
another yellow, another orange. They need no water.
This year there will be no wildflowers.