Published in Issue 9 of Two Cities Review
Today all of it matters, the start, the finish,
the dark, the light. Around here each year
this is the time the heat increases, this is why I
care about what works best in the desert, where
sitting still in the hottest part of the day is a skill.
In the winter long walking is okay any time
and planting seeds is easily done . In a hot time
it is different, how to treat sunflower seeds and
calendula matters, early morning water is crucial.
Protecting the miniature plants to give them a strong
beginning is key. What keeps us all going in
an impermanent place. This is why I am out early,
walking hard under the palm trees, moving under
the stars in the early part of the day. And there are
life tools involved. A bottle of water, a kerchief, a hat.
When the sun is burning hot in the desert, it makes
any of us forget ourselves and how we need
basics to get by here. Shade may be the same as
love and slowness in an arid place is the same
as quickness somewhere else. And then there
are the wildflowers in the middle of nowhere.
A staggering sight. In a pitch of sand. Wild
pink poppies. A few rabbits heading fast for
a tuft of wild grass. Some of the flowers are
opening up like dreams. It is what they do.
I bring what’s needed. Mental delectations
for what rises no matter what else doesn’t.
No matter what is wanting, there is always
this idea of more. The blush of things. The shape
of the flowers, the feel. The dog is moving along
over the back field. Soon it is time to turn back.
Time for work again, a bowl of oatmeal at home.
Ideas of desire on the pile again but never out of sight.
I am ready to cut a few rose buds to put on the kitchen
table for another day of light, the petals opening up
toward it. Ready to start again.