Drought

August is usually hot and dry, but this year July was too, and June. Wildfires and water shortages, rivers so low the fish are dying, this summer has been a national emergency. I posted this earlier today, but August doesn’t mean anything else this year, so I’m adding it to the dverse ‘August’ prompt.

Drought

I picked blackberries again,
all that seems to flourish
in this wasted summer,

and beneath my feet,
the ashes of clover and vetch,
yellow dust rising

that should bind deep,
damp and sweet,
growing green roots and shoots.