Life in Her Eyes

My Old New Friend

A quiet murmuring rose from her lips as I joined her at the picnic table and sang along. It was such a perfect moment filled with indescribable brightness. To walk through her memories I felt real and personally grateful.

We started to sing,
"I come to the garden alone while the dew is still on the roses..."

She lifted a finger to direct us as she cocked her head and waited to insure that we were not off key and keeping time. The chorus seemed to buoy her spirits as a wry smile crept in at the corners of her mouth.

"...and He walks with me and He talks with me..."

Eyes filled with life and river's deep meaning surged across my heart. 

"...and He tells me that I am His own and the joy we share as we tarry there - None other has ever known."

We sang Elvis even though she didn't know me. We were one, caught up in another place and time. As she insisted I hold her hand, tenderness passed between us with our voices lifted in joy. I looked forward to singing as old friends again and feeling part of her quiet, gentle life. I saw her at her best, whole and complete if only for just a moment. Walking the well-worn path of her soul, her mind sometimes clouded, her body weakened by age. Yet, I was filled with peace as we crossed the divide of time, distance, and knowing. Valued time now used only with family and those no longer strangers willing to join her in her world and experience love. 

I never knew that I would be invited into her circle to warm by her fire and be at home in a place filled with love. I was so honored to hold her hand.

Geese on the Edge of the Desert

You don't expect on a Great Basin drive to find lakes filled with Snow Geese. Mile after mile of open space, yes, but not 1000's of geese floating as rafts. Alkali and sand give way to irrigated fields strung as beads of water tucked in as jewels in a belt safe from intrusion protected by miles of desert. Collected on them are birds content to sit and rest a spell on their forward march to the Arctic. Instinctual navigation has led them to this precise dot for centuries. As if a mirage rising and falling in spectacular white, black-tipped wonders drift in rhythmically, pulsing clouds, constantly calling reassurance. I sat; I watched, listened caught up in thought and feeling a thin thread tracing back to antiquity. I have been here before. As if written in my DNA, it penetrates my soul. We are one - interconnected and intertwined - time and space are gone. I follow the ragged line of geese into the air and I am carried with them. 

I See The Flock Breathe

What are they saying? 

As the spiraling calls lift from the flock,

they seem to breathe as one,

softly rising and falling.

The pulse taken, a spike of birds flies up

and circles above for a time...

then gently settles back to 

quiet, rest, unmoving.

Waves of sound soften and then intensify,

lulling me into security...

and suddenly caught off guard

by jarring sirens as they take flight.

Sparkling as glitter, the sun 

catches each angled wing,

swirling above the water

then drifting down to rest.

I think that I shall never know

what this transcending voice intones, 

but I shall be ever grateful to experience

their sonorous chanting

that strikes a harmonious chord deep within me.

 

 

 

 

Wild Mustang Encounter

Memories of childhood come flooding in whenever I see horses. My father's passion was to train and work horses. Watching Western movies was a fun pastime for us as kids. Nothing was more exciting than bronc busting wild mustangs as shown in the movies. 

Here in the desert, we have real wild mustangs. Small herds roam the area, and we see them from time to time as we cross the desert to go to town. Yesterday was one of those times. We were in no rush, so when we saw a pair of them, we drove off of the highway and back closer to them via a dirt road. 

When we got back there, we couldn't see them because there was a rise between us and them. I figured that I could sneak up on them and get a better picture. They would surely run when they heard me. As I got near the top of the rise, I could see them standing at attention looking at me. I stood up, and then to my surprise, they started to walk and then trot toward me. I thought they would be scared of me. I was a full 150 yards from the car and less than half that from them. I decided to jog toward the car. They were obviously not afraid of me. 

As I got to the car, they kept coming and stopped for a photo-op near the car. These two bachelors, young stallions, I guess came urged by curiosity. I was no bronc-buster today. At first sign of me, they came forward ready to engage. I headed for safety with my kids  and wife wondering why I was running back to the car. This time nature ran on four hooves and I enjoyed them from the car. 

Today the Day Mustangs Ran

No cowpoke, no not today.

I turned and ran the other way.

They got the best of me by far

as I sat safely inside my car.

I had come to see them running free

and crept up as quiet as could be

and poked my head up ov'r the rise

and stood just lookin' in their eyes.

I saw them and they saw me.

My heart raced wild, my mind set free,

for just an instant neither moved-

not horse, nor me, we only stood.

They didn't turn and run away.

They stood and whinnied and faced their prey.

One stomped his feet and swung his head,

trotted to me and moved ahead.

I looked at them, and they looked at me.

They were coming closer I could see.

I was the one filled with surprise.

I thought I could scare them by my size.

But they were young and strong and brave

and I was feeling small today.

So I took a final shot quite clear,

turned tail, and jogged away from there.

Tucked safe inside my car I laughed,

they had followed directly in my path.

Wild mustangs great roaming free

amazed to see them next to me.

I never thought there would be a day

I would see them in this personal way.

So close they stood, so tall and straight,

these stallions two followed me today.

Bluebirds

I often step out of the school into the sun.
It shines brightly on my face.
I can feel the warmth soaking in like steam rising from home-baked bread.
As I turn, I catch a flash of color out of the corner of my eye -
brighter than the sky, sparkling in a mirror lake.

The bluest blue, 
    the kind you see on paint chips at the hardware store...
    the kind in a child's story book that teaches the name of colors...
    the blue of suckers, Otter Pops, and sapphires in display cases...
    the one-of-a-kind 1970's blue of my Tux for a prom - velvet and satin...
    the color of lava lamps oozing through space...
    the color of a Sonic Raspberry Slushie or a bejeweled Elvis jumpsuit...
    the color of Blue Suede Shoes, Blueberry Hill, and Blue Velvet, so mellow and buttery.
 
Only this was the vibrant color of a bird.
No wait, there are more than one dancing in the tree.
I can't take my eye off of them.
I want to hold them in my hands and stroke their feathers and feel them breathe and then powerfully take to the air.

They are as vivid as memories of love, fun, and friends at special events.
Scarcely there, tucked in the edges of my heart
as welcome as love's first kiss.

I am so grateful for memories of Cobalt, Azure, Cornflower, and Indigo and for every small and beautiful carrier of them. They say that nothing is truly blue, only the reflecting and bending of light, but they are real to me.

My Drive Through the Desert

As late winter scrambles to make up its mind about temperature, snow, rain, wind and mud, I marvel at the changes and love the feel of the warm sun on my face. I gaze at the passing of clouds in waves overhead and the glistening frost covering everything in the mornings. Long drives in the desert filled with what the locals call "Windshield Time" gives one plenty of time to think - having the road to oneself and an open mind to whatever thoughts creep in. 

On one of these trips across the desert, I was completely taken by the scene spread before me. The mountains were bathed in a glorious purple light - snow-clad mountains oozing purple. I have to admit that purple mountain majesty came to mind. I couldn't take my eyes from them. The soft glow of sunset stretched from West to East where everything was set on purple fire. As the sun crept low in the western sky, the light show ended as if fading into nothingness and finally utter darkness.  

Purple is a Great Color for Mountains

Jagged peaks covered in snow lay before me.
The sun setting in the west, ruby and tangerine,
transformed to grape and cobalt in the east.

How could the mountains be made of purple ice?
When dull grey valleys lost in twilight 
spread as a backdrop wide as curtains-
that I now drove imperceptibly through. 

My mind raced forward to get a better view.
The colors seemed to fade like my scrambled thoughts.
Was it real or just imagined?
I retraced my mental journey and reveled 
in the quiet of falling darkness.

No one to interrupt, no traffic to distract
- only peace. No fear could present itself.
Not even a loud thought could penetrate
the wonder of this ever-changing scene.

Deep and powerful the rows of crags 
illuminated in ever-changing color, 
like LED lights spreading through diffused clouds.
My wandering senses tried to comprehend
that these illusions of reality existed.

Groundhogs Day in the Desert

Can you imagine it? Groundhogs day so important to PUNXSUTAWNEY PHIL is hardly a day to announce here- being that we don't have groundhogs. Oh, but that is not exactly the truth. We have the most incredible  burrowing "hogs" of all. They are like some kind of cartoon super villains boring through the yard. One moment you walk outside and see a 3 inch hole in the ground and a few minutes later walking over the same exact spot you will find no trace of the excavation. Is this an illusion, or is it a super-powered digger? We have tried to catch a glimpse of this furry friend, but to no avail. Next thing you know there is a giant mound of earth piled up in the same place. This is made even more impressive because the ground being dug is largely a deep pile of rocks cemented together by impermeable clay. 

As it has become an obsession to find the culprit. We are becoming super sleuths as a family. What is the identity of this mysterious intra-terrestrial visitor? After months of careful observations of his rocky home. We have found him flashing across the ground and darting under the shed. He seems to be a faintly striped rodent. When found in groups they seem to always be in a hurry having fun- dashing about playing hide-n-seek, jumping and rolling over each other. Is it a chipmunk? No, too large and too chunky. Maybe a pocket gopher? No, they don't have stripes and seldom come out in the daytime. Our friend is obviously a lover of the ground. Our guess then a "ground squirrel", but what kind?

Through a search of the internet, the purveyor of all truth. We have discovered that our miner is an Antelope squirrel. A cute, chubby version of a chipmunk. If only I could harness his power and use it at planting time. It would be a task easily done. 

Knowing this creature lurks beneath our house and shed tells me he seems to own the place. Now if we could only get him to cleanup after himself. He would be a welcomed guest. So will there be six more weeks of winter? I can't seem to find "Partoun Pete" to ask him. I guess we'll just have to wait and see. By summer I'm sure we'll know the answer.

 

Family Hike to"Black Mountain"

Ever since we came to the desert, we have looked out of our kitchen window and wondered, "Why is that mountain black?" So we started to call it "Black Mountain". With all of the snow on the mountains we saw that it was standing without snow. We took a drive on snow packed roads and crept up on the mountain. We don't know much about the dirt roads. So we parked and walked the last couple of miles. There was snow on the ground and the uneven landscape made the hike more challenging. The view was spectacular. With the intermittent clouds, we had to keep moving to stay warm. 

There is a strange rule that seems to exist - the mountains seem to move farther away the longer you walk. We eventually arrived and climbed around for a time and explored the canyon and got acquainted with the rock formations. So many wonderful colors, shapes and textures. 

We headed back home across the desert to the car, our long journey nearly complete. The fog started to roll in from the south. By the time we arrived home, there was no way to see "Black Mountain" at all. 

On the hike, nothing brought relief like several water breaks with cookies to tide us over. The vast open spaces never cease to amaze me. This snow covered land has so many hidden secrets waiting to be discovered. They are hidden in the rocks and whispered on the wind and stretched across the bluest of skies. What more could I ask for on a winter's day, than to push myself off of the sofa and walk into the face of the undeniable beauty of my desert home. I have attempted to capture this moment and etch it into my memory through a poem.


Black Mountain

There it stood dark and obvious against the sky
defying the elements and beckoning to me.
After driving a maze of snow covered roads we approached,
never really finding the easy way to her skirts.

Starting across the openness of the landscape, we walked.
The goal to reach the base of her talus slope.
Reaching each rock outcrop, we paused and gazed at her.
Still gaining little on her moving form as if an illusion.

Wonders of scattered rocks lined the desert floor -
the colors, shapes and textures kept us in good spirits.
-Ever sneaking up on her-
small washes gave way to larger gulleys and finally 
a small canyon hindered us from accessing her nearness.

We scrabbled down and through our final obstacle 
and stared up at her steep, rock-strewn slope,
too difficult to climb today. 
We must return another day and greet her once more.

Leaving her behind, we glanced over our shoulders.
Back into the desert we made our retreat
through the crunching of snow and reflected whiteness.
As scouts following a trail to camp, we made our way.

Off in the southern sky, we could see the fog
crawling along the valley floor, 
but we were safe for the time 
enjoying the grand spectacle that spread before us.

We had found the secret of Black Mountain.
Powerful forces had raised her head above the desert floor
and heated her from within.
Her skirts now covered with cinders.


Tired, but filled with accomplishment we were 
reminded of our smallness in this place.
Yet, with awe found a sleeping friend-
ate, played and laughed as we sat at her feet.