In Times That Trouble

The rain’s eluded us for seven years,
The sky no longer swells with clouds. The bees
Retreated to the north. Mesquite trees dropped
No pods, and lizards left their rocky homes.
The mountains, though, stood firm. And so did I.

Though wind might pound the dust against the roof,
Though Palo Verde limbs might crash through walls,
Though riverbeds might buckle, breaching wide,
I will not murmur. No, I will hold true.

Though searing sun might harden cotton bolls,
Though corn silk shrivel and the kernel scorch,
Though grapes in clusters parch to stone, and I
Hear talk of upheaval and war, I will
be still and know that He has set the bounds.

⸺

This article appears in October 2026.