The sun sets in the crimson-stained skies
And trickles down the tip of the crested mountain
To the stony red ridges below.
They seem to sigh, as the entire desert
Asks in its silent voice
What it means, what everything means.
A lone coyote screams into the gathering darkness
As the silver sands wonder
The question of the dry desert:
Why am I here?
Why must I suffer and fight through
The never-ending dryness
To wait for drops of rain?
It waits, its deepest soils caking and cracking,
For something to happen,
For anything to happen.
Time and time again
The question is asked-
Why?

And finally a deeper,
More ageless voice answers.
A voice that isn’t heard,
But echoes throughout
The deepest canyons of the desert.
Its answer seems simple-
“You are here to exist,
And to bring life to those
Who depend on you for it.”

A single rejuvenating drop of rain falls
From the silver skies.