Saguaro © 2014 Bo Mackison
Wisdom begins with wonder. ~ Socrates
Desert dreams are not tidy,
though they are tidier than one might imagine.
The desert practices its tidy habits, no tropical jungle overgrown tangled,
creeping dripping with life-giving nutrients.
The desert is precious gift of space,
space enough to find one’s own place;
space enough for one to gather the desert rains.
It only asks for patience and perseverance.
It is enough.
The desert breeze blows strong, dust swirling.
The desert plays the bass line, like a bassoon and
bass clarinet intermingling, deep and sensuous.
Heat rises from the baked red earth, heat waves
pulsate desert breath. Steady rhythm.
I stand upon the land, alone, embraced by desert song
and supported by my ocotillo walking stick.
It is here I hold onto my world.
