Sydney, New South Wales, Australia
Under relentless Australian summer sun, the farm land thirsts. The river on the eastern boundary is a muddy trickle between bare, steep-sided banks.
Our swimming hole has disappeared along with the fish. Thick-girthed river gums droop, leaves curling, bark hanging carelessly.
I watch as you crumble a hand full of soil into powdery dust knowing no crop will be planted this year, your shoulders hunched. You are as stressed as the thin-ribbed sheep among splinters of remaining stubble.
This week from the north clouds full-term with moisture escorted by thunder and lightning. Days of ceaseless rain drench the farm, fill dams, lakes and rivers. Within a week the sodden soil erupts in green shoots.
circling, always circling
waxes and wanes