The Farmer by Lori Lipsky
The farmer searches sky for clouds, then checks the weather report. Again. That his lawn grass lies dormant is of little concern. The flowers near the porch must be watered or die, but he doesn’t notice. His thoughts are on his fields. His yields.
Wild animals now bend heads lower to drink from the creek behind the farmhouse. The banks expose themselves on either side. Even the lips of thirsty soil around his crops have cracked open. The farmer prays, waits, watches with eyes upward.