There has been no significant rain since August.
The lawn died months ago. Only a strip fed by condensation from the roof lives.
The pastures are beyond dead grass dry.
They are barren.
The chickens hunt grasshoppers, like Jurassic Park raptors, they move with amazing speed over the barren ground. Few bugs survive the predation of the flock.
The weeds have withered, the horses move restlessly over the pastures, seeking out the few blades surviving in the low places. They drink deeply in the mornings, sucking the 100 gallon trough dry.
Blue skies are relentless. Even the deeply cloudy days cheerlessly refusing to part with any moisture.
Even now, as the sky is blurring over with high clouds, mocking the color of the sky, the ground has little hope. The wind does not bring the sharp scent of rain. The clouds merely curtain away the sun for a day.
The grass is dead, the trees suffer in silence. Birds, fox and coyote prowl, endlessly searching for water.