Clear As Mud. We've had it, blue Summery skies a'plenty, We're looking up at bone-dry Day Twenty, No cool palm oases, none for miles around, No shelter for sweaty man or panting hound. Our once lush Spring verges, greenly grassed? A ground down sepia brown, fading into the past, Daily the Weather Guy repeats himself once more, Hoary dry old promises, we've heard 'em all before. So, it is no wonder noonday darkness startles us, Our empty sky is deeply banked in Cumulonimbus, Ain't no empty promise in this passing thunderstorm, A rumble, then down she tumbles, wet, welcome, warm. (In these highly charged tempestuous times about all we can safely talk about is the weather. So...)
”No, you misheard me, what I said was ‘Look, Sky Water’.”
©Obbverse.
I read teh novel ‘Scrublands’ last year about a small outback town concealing…something. Quite good. The drought was like a supporting character in the story.
LikeLiked by 1 person
‘Scrublands’ does sound like its worth a look. Maybe of interest from your perspective, I was driving along, air con on full blast, listening to Rodney Crowell’s droll ‘Texas Drought, Part One.’ Definitely influenced this.
LikeLike
Check out the track ‘Next Year People’ by Colin Hay. A peach.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Always have an ear out for good music, so ta, I will listen.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I had a seriously prescient and witty comment all prepared in my fevered mind, but then I hit your “Look, Sky Water” twist and, well, I cannot compete with that. Brilliant.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks. I appreciate dry wit.
LikeLiked by 1 person