Wind in the Desert

Clouds at dawn over the desert

Wind in the Desert

Nothing is superfluous in the desert.
The essential thrives
with an intelligence
that knows how to find water
scarce though it may be
and takes no more than it needs.

Calling my heart back to itself,
between galaxies and granite
and the rumblings of the earth,

I walked upon this ancient sea floor
to listen to the wind,

to gaze into the heart of flowers,Teddy-bear Cholla flower (Cylindropuntia bigelovii) @ Bow Willow (fuller view***IMG_2423
to confer with the cactus about thorns,
to see what a lizard sees,
to listen to the stories the rocks tell,

to invite surprise
to emerge from its burrow
and prance like a prairie dog again.

Without artificial light to interfere,
the singing of the stars is unmuffled;
even the music from faraway Andromeda
tingles the skin.

The Big Dipper ladles dreams into a silver trough
large enough to quench even the deepest thirst.
Natural rhythm is restored.

Equality is a given.
Every cactus wears a diadem of flowers
and is sovereign where it stands,
bowing to no one but the sun.

The wind blows in great gusts,
carrying ocean memories across the desert ~
pinkflowerthe creosote dances in waves of yellow flowers,
the mimulus ripple like a watercolor
brushed in crimson across the sand,
the cholla stands staunch and steady
as a sea stack, not wavering;
it knows how to survive and
its flowers glow with this knowledge.

Death has become a sprinter
running in circles around me
with greater frequency
winking around every turn.
It could be any time
that we link arms
and he escorts me offstage.

Tornadoes twisting in the east,
storms flooding in the south,
icecaps melting in the north,
faults shaking in the west,
fires raging in the center,

the black gutted poison of greed
spewing into the Gulf,
radiation seeping from the breeched cores of reactors
carried by the wind
to where I’m sitting, now,
breathing it all in.

How do I make wine out of the madness
even still?
Oh, dear earth, dear soul, even still?

The wind carries secrets
that it shares in confidences with those who listen.
Listening,
the wind fingered my hair like a lover,
and I took a deep breath.
Wind what are you saying?

No words.

Just blowing away sorrows
and softening the sharp edges that cut and divide.

It’s Spring in the desert,
I’ve come to pollinate the flowers.
Look at them,
have you ever seen anything more lovelyslivergreen
than these dreams in bloom?

You needn’t be so strong all the time.
Even in your seeming aloneness,
I never forget you for even an instant.
You can relax into not knowing
and I will catch you in my arms.

Sing at dusk with the whip-poor-will
and at dawn with the wren.
Sing the songs that bubble up from the aquifer.

The wine is brewing.

Nothing is superfluous in the desert.

© 2012 Andrea Freeman

 

 

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