In the midst of the dry bones,

   under the hot sun,

      where the vultures circle,

         and where water once ran…

Look closely for,

   subtle beauty,

      for Divine majesties,

         for wisps of pink and lavender,

             a blush of gold,

                and for bursts of golden yellow…

On the mounds of dry bones,

   look closely because,

     life abounds,

         under the unrepenting glare,

             where ingenuity finds all that it needs to continue…

In the valley of dry bones…

   do not rush by,

      instead linger,

         listen for the doe in the bushes,

            contemplate the scrub oak reproducing,

                  and marvel at the one bright red berry,

                     that prophesies in the midst of dry bones.

All photos by Tim Graves.