Jack wrote this in February, 2006:
That moon setting over the mesa is almost full, red-orange. Someone probably knows what a red-orange moonset means, but it ain’t me.
I’ve been doing considerable energy work trying to bring in some moisture here, trying to get this sustained drought behind us. The pinons on the mountain are tough biomass, but eventually a drought in a place that normally doesn’t get more than 10 inches of moisture per year begins to give them the blind staggers.
Thus far success has been limited on the rainmaking venture. Twice light snowfalls have followed the intense efforts, but not enough to even stay on the ground more than a few hours.
I tried stealing some of the undirected energy from all those people focused on the box full of pictures of guys banging up against one another fighting over a ball last Sunday, trying to use it to pull some moisture-laden cloud in here, but all I got was a wind gusting to 50 miles an hour.
Maybe it’s still on the way. I tried planting metaphysical chaos butterflies over every city in the US. Such things take a while.
Meanwhile, I’m grateful that it’s still winter, still too early for the fires we’re going to have if the universe doesn’t drop some H2O on us.
Grateful that we still might get water here, enough to keep the trees alive.
Grateful for everything that’s ever happened to me in this life, for what’s happening now, and for everything that’s going to happen during whatever life I have yet to live.
Grateful it does end eventually, this one, and grateful for whatever pause we get in-between before we have to come back and try to do it right next time.