{"product_id":"the-rain-that-doesnt-reach-the-ground-paperback-2","title":"The Rain That Doesn't Reach The Ground - Paperback","description":"\u003cdiv\u003e\u003cp style=\"text-align: right;\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"https:\/\/reportcopyrightinfringement.com\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"nofollow\"\u003e\u003cb\u003eReport copyright infringement\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/a\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003c\/div\u003e\u003cp\u003eby \u003cb\u003eGeorge Kalamaras\u003c\/b\u003e (Author)\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eGeorge Kalamaras's The Rain That Doesn't Reach the Ground is the latest installment of the poet's forty-five year history with the American West: from having lived in Fort Collins, Colorado, full-time during most of the 1980s, to living an hour northwest in Livermore (near the Wyoming border) many summers since, to spending a summer in Big Timber, Montana, on the trail of locales visited by his belovèd Richard Hugo, to retiring from teaching in Indiana after thirty-two years and living six months a year in both Indiana and Colorado, to-finally-pulling up stakes in Indiana and settling full-time back in Colorado at 7,600 feet in elevation on Green Mountain in Livermore. This enduring embrace of Colorado and the West has lent Kalamaras perspective not only on his adopted homeland but also on the significance of his Indiana roots, a landscape some might think pales in comparison but to Kalamaras offers the experience of the rich animal life and Indiana woodlands he adores as entrée into a deeper relationship with the natural world in Colorado. Like his poems about hound dogs, The Rain That Doesn't Reach the Ground delves into some of the poet's most personal and intimate reflections on life, spirit, the wisdom of animals, and living in harmony with one's surroundings. This book is a meditation on place-whether it be a region one is preparing to leave or a place one has begun to inhabit with ever-deepening attention.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSample: \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eDriving Across the Great Plains\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd each small town. Each small town\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ekeeps crawling me back, carving itself\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethrough itself. Cutting into the Indiana tree bark\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eof my bones as a supposed way home.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSay I call out every day, by God, to myself.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSay I'm lost like the sound of gravel\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ein the shallows. Say I am the texture of wind\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ein the mouth, slowly easing out\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eback unto the world. The sun. The sun comes up\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eacross these plains. The moon bleeds back the night.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFlakes of snow keep saying \u003cem\u003eColorado\u003c\/em\u003e, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eeven as I pass-miles and miles east-\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNebraska towns like Sidney and Broken Bow.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI've called. Called out to the dead.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI've called and combed my voice\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eover and again through the buffalo\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003egrass. Rolled it, mud-blotched, into the river bottom\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewhere all things are beautifully said. Sad.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhere the wind goes slack in evening\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003elanterns lit by moths. I didn't feel \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethings. Didn't feel the earth\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003efor a long time. Still, I kept driving west, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003epast Ogallala and Julesburg, telling myself\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethe mountains would surely stop me.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd I felt whinges of wind, both behind me \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand before, mimicking me as I clenched\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewith each breath I took to reassure myself\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI had done my best. That I had done\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eall I possibly could. That the cottonwoods\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eeach autumn fed the North Platte\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebags of their brilliant gold. That the land I was eating\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewas eating \u003cem\u003eme\u003c\/em\u003e with each mile\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI pursued, each leaf somehow falling\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003einto me and through.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n            \u003cdiv\u003e\n\u003cstrong\u003eNumber of Pages:\u003c\/strong\u003e 200\u003c\/div\u003e\n            \u003cdiv\u003e\n\u003cstrong\u003eDimensions:\u003c\/strong\u003e 0.46 x 9 x 6 IN\u003c\/div\u003e\n            \u003cdiv\u003e\n\u003cstrong\u003ePublication Date:\u003c\/strong\u003e June 01, 2025\u003c\/div\u003e\n            ","brand":"BooksCloud","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47353850003705,"sku":"9781962847148","price":28.08,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0789\/2782\/3097\/files\/aKtPA8bJlX9781962847148_ba347143-3576-4969-88a5-8975550d7100.webp?v=1769828664","url":"https:\/\/bookscloud.io\/products\/the-rain-that-doesnt-reach-the-ground-paperback-2","provider":"BooksCloud Book Dropshipping","version":"1.0","type":"link"}