July in the Sierra

July in the sierra, but to my eyes September

Golden grasses and withered pines blanket

browned-out districts where once flourished glorious 

green boroughs of meadow and mosses.

Abandoned stones in dry beds whispering 

rumors: once I ran swift and strong. The main 

courses still go, more elemental types 

of their flooded selves. All things dry, dusty,

Gritty in the rolling heat of brazen 

skies — save the shimmering thickets of young 

aspens twisting their turned-up trunks along 

slopes where avalanches thundered years ago.

But I too am not as I expected. 

Passing years, seasonal droughts and storms mark

Steps taken, paths trod; goings up, down, round;

Washouts rerouted, reparied, and rebuilt.

The rock remains: weathered but strong, rooted

Deep, reaching high against foul skies and fair.

-Andy Cornett, July 2021