Maria rose before the dawn and headed to the west
Her goal to make Picacho for the sunrise.
She spoke gently to the mountain, clutched her wrap tight to her breast
She loved this time of day, the drama in the skies.
She must be home for deliv’ries of whiskey and supplies
The wagons should be coming and they should be there by noon.
Closing on the summit she sensed a scent that was comprised
Of things: like salt, and sand, and seaweed, and the light of a full moon.
That’s crazy stuff, she thought but at the top her gaze was soon
Drawn downhill to the water, stretching far as she could see.
Armando had foretold of this, this was no mere monsoon.
California must be gone now, because her ranch was on the beach.
It was funny, she hadn’t heard a thing.
Property values must be skyrocketing.