At 98 degrees
the stones
catch fire
beneath my feet –
fry tumbleweeds.
Even the hardiest
desert flowers weep.
The Earth cracks
along invisible fissures
and all I can feel
is gratitude for this
home. Inside
cool walls and
tile floors, low light
and lemongrass
scents open space…
Grateful plants send
out new shoots.
Outside, hummingbirds
gather like bees
under the shaded portal
for sweet nectar
while most birds sleep.
A dust devil
swirls in the distance,
and cottonwood hearts
dance like butterflies
in a fierce west wind.
A sagebrush lizard
clinging to the
shaded
adobe wall
pierces the heat
with one eye.
Even he isn’t moving.
Houses made of mud
and straw
provide refuge.
The orange eye of the sun
can’t penetrate these walls.
The Old Ones knew.
