Rain me down into the inner resilience of the humanity that we share, you and me. A moon that sings common brightness to those struggling in the Ogaden and those ready to celebrate Thanksgiving does not distinguish between we and them. I recall sitting with Denan elder chiefs under a desert moon, smiling in our differences, they with their henna colored beards covering the grey and me with my unkempt face.
Trails await me as long as the times have time, and I have yet to find the seconds to meet them all.
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The downy woodpecker calls out in the November rain, not too far from Axl’s favorite hometown feeding joint, a pizza shop. Trees, drenched in cold precipitation, may get a layer of freezing overnight. Two inches, potentially, of rain could fall in the next eighteen hours.
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Trails that I have met, will you been mine on Sunday? Dried out or wet?
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