We wade through thickets of Spanish mustard blossoms.
Scattered sunlight among weeds,
their forked limbs spread
like arms proffered to the sky.
A spatter of streaks and color,
the hill briefly rendered in pointillism.
Spring speaks green, but summer falls
abrupt and lethargic, gold, yellow hot,
among the grass husks and the cactus that slump
like tired crosses on these desert slopes.