DROUGHT

"Every Drop of Rain Has Its Song."
- Hopi saying
drawing/photo/collage - S. Auberle 2005

In this eleventh year of drought bears, deer,
javelinas and mountain lions are beginning
to move into Arizona towns in search of water
and food. Herds of elk are already here, in my
backyard and everywhere. Plans are being
made for transporting water to the animals
this year. The forests are parched. And yet,
the insanity of unrestricted sprawl and
building growth continues.
Where will it end?

In this dry time, when the rains and snow have
forsaken us, the shells on my windowsill remind me
of water and how precious it is. I didn't know how
important water--rain and snow, lakes and rivers
were--until I no longer had them.

Isn't that a universal truth we all end up learning?
You never know how important something or
someone is. Until they're gone.

I thought I was prepared for my mother's death. I told
her so, said it's okay, you can go home now. I'll be fine.
She didn't believe me, but she was tired. Eighty-six years
is a long time on this earth. And maybe she missed rain too.
She had moved to Arizona at the age of eighty-one to be
with me. All those years before she had lived in one small
part of the world--western Ohio. A world of green: grasses,
trees and rain. Maybe she longed for that landscape, as I
do now, in these years of drought. But still, she didn't want to
leave me. I said again, it's okay. And she slipped away one
January night as a dry wind beat against my windows.

It's been six years now. My mother is gone, the rain and snow
are gone. I pray, I write, I hold my husband, children and
grandchildren close. I keep working. I keep dreaming. I dream
of my mother now--sometimes she is dancing. The dreams of
her are precious to me and I wake, smiling, happy to have
visited with her.

Almost every night I dream of water--snow, clear green lakes
filled with leaping fish, rain sliding down a night window.

But now I know. Each moment with loved ones, each dream,
each raindrop is precious. What do we have, but
this moment?

- mimi