Not a day on the calendar

I sit here

waiting for the rain

singing praises to the gods

of the south wind

searching the cabinet

for my liniment 

and chasing spiders 

using my boots

as their summer home

my poor guitars

every neck and bridge

in need of adjustment

all the stings

old and oxidized

(my new band name)

there comes a day 

never marked on the calendar

when suddenly

we pass from Fall to Winter

the easterly dry winds calm

the last leaves crunch underfoot

fire season is over

and the rain comes riding in 

on a fresh south breeze

a gift from the heavens