After a 100-Year Drought

After A 100-Year Drought

This year the huisache blooms its greetings to the new season in wild cascades of dusty, mustard orange, strands of tiny tufts, like waterfalls of puffy Crayola clouds waving in the Hill Country breeze. The fields are festooned with loud clumps of shrubs and trees, calling all the honey bees. The huisache is the most beautiful among the many beautiful this spring. The heavy branches, draped in a blaze so bright, like 3-M's neon traffic caution signs, call out to the screaming green, almost iridescent mesquite and the mysterious, blackened-green cedar.  Then, sliding in, the gentle humidity, the clouds in the distance, the tiny drops of water falling on each of their fronds and branches, and tiny leaves, like little fingers dripping and floating in the breeze.  The carpet of bluebonnets beneath them. What colors we have. Que de colores.  What colors this land presents as it opens the new season. From the drought we emerge in new clothes to welcome the possibilities.