Who'd have thought I'd miss the hiss and rattleSkip to next paragraph
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of sprinklers arcing water across fresh-cut grass?
A small relief each evening on my run,
I'd slow down near the black-splotched asphalt
where they slapped the street, jog in place, waiting
to get splashed. Now every lawn is scorched brown.
No one can use a hose, so my wife hauls
the watering can in and out of our house
three times each night to keep the impatiens
flowering. And the tomatoes, she tends to them
as if they're essential for survival,
yellow stars blooming to grape-sized globes.
Late August, because of her persistence,
we'll harvest them - plump and flushed
with life, reward for sacrifice. 1