There was an easy rhythm of sowing and harvesting;
of growing and tending and gathering;
of storing up resources against some calamity
unknowable but sensed in its imminence
through ancient, ancestral memory.
In these times of calm that can last whole lifetimes,
in these times of prayer and ritual to bring about your return,
it is easy to forget that you are a weather god:
that storms follow naturally in your wake
to drown the crops and animals; also heat
that warms, dries out, finally burns everything it touches.
Like any god, your presence and your absence
both create insoluble problems; like any mortal,
I crave your nearness no matter the cost.
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