Through my window I see a morning of change,

A breeze of difference, a touch of rain I see.

The sky is moving, a heaviness rests above,

When it’s raining there’s a quietness that surrounds.

This day is different, not enough rain but to wash the dust,

Thankful for every drop we get, before our eyes life dies.

I speak of out west, California not so special anymore,

The rain is a stranger but we pray always for more.

Keith Garrett