Little red hills startle a serpentine mountain,
burnish gold in twilight.
Ancient junipers grow crooked –
cry out to wind and rain to shape them.
Baby whip-tails streak over red skinned
dirt at high noon.
Silvery sages call to me through scent at dusk –
“pick a twig and let me heal you.”
Five petaled periwinkle flowers
have leaves like bristles,
birth stars under pinion pines.
Diminutive pin-cushions sprout
pink and magenta blossoms in dry washes,
(invisible to all but the discerning eye).
Cottontails feast on delicate gray green twigs;
Black tailed hares leap skywards over a waning moon.
The desert is alive with wonder –
Double rainbows arc from horizon to horizon
showering this patch of cracked earth with blessings,
Gifting Her with Rain.
Living in the desert makes change seem irrelevant. Clouds cast shadows from mountain to mountain shifting the sky every second. Thundergods rumble fiercely in the distance. Nothing stays the same here – the light determines what I see or what I don’t as the star at the center of our solar system illuminates or blinds me during the daylight hours. Arcturus rises in the western sky at twilight bringing down a curtain of black velvet over a sky of red coals. In the early morning the Great Bear enters her cave in the west under earth made of sand and red dirt. The silence of the red hills and dry washes rings a bell in my heart.