Rain has collected inside a basin
at the bottom of a hill on a spit
of land between wind-whipped Tomales Bay
and an ocean shoreline pounded by waves.

Mirror-flat, reflecting a cloudless sky
with serene, blue stillness, it is precious
as a source of freshwater for the herd
of tule elk who linger around it.

The males are crowned with huge racks of antlers,
bleached by the sun a pale tan like driftwood.
On the hill above them sits a paddock,
wound with rusty wire, abandoned for years.
Dairy farms thrive inland from their preserve
           where fences enclose acres of meadow.