AGUA ES VIDA

By Maria Teresa Garcia

Growing clouds shroud late summer sun.

Rain generous this season.  

The acequia madre gushes.

Plentiful relief for the parciantes.  

Mayordomo wipes his brow.

No angry words fly like black crows  

between lineas as in years past.

When the sequia flows, we are all good neighbors. 

Cool evenings bring us out of our homes, 

onto porches, into backyards.

We watch the agua course the ancient route.

Wild asparagus on the ditch’s banks draws us near.

In the garden cilantro, zucchini, pumpkins 

once modest, now flourish.   

Colorful cosmos on long slender stems tempt

bees, birds, butterflies to our ranchito. 

Sunflower wall hides latilla fence begging

for repair.  

Elegant hollyhocks and wild roses camouflage  

wellhouse’s crumbling adobes.

Apricot and peach tree branches hang heavy.

Jam, jelly, strips of dried fruit in our future.

Bitter chokecherries ready to gather.

Abuela’s alchemy renders sweet elixir

for cold winter nights to come.