The Moon climbs above the mesa.
The Milky Way spreads her wings.
The Big dipper shifts in the sky,
and the Sun chases away the dark.
I wake
I sleep
I wake
What’s new, you ask?
Every day,
I answer.
The tangy smell of earth and the subtle shift of wind.
A fruit where before was none.
Leaves falling, crunching underfoot.
A melody of uncombed earth
shaggy and shoddy in her glory.
The dogs and horses grow their coats
then shed again.
The tree drops its weight and grows anew.
I have stopped writing to you, my love.
I’m sorry.
Life has turned me upside down and then back righted again.
Better than before.
But for a moment,
the focus was hard to find.
I am myself in a spiral notebook, wrinkled and blowing pages.
In the solitude shared with only animals,
that silent language we all speak.
The fur of a dog ruffling in the gentle breath of wind
and the puff of dirt from a shaking horse.
The sway of a saddle underneath –
especially the sway of a saddle underneath.
I have given myself to this desert,
to these animals
and they to me.
To be real – now that is the thing, isn’t it?
Do you ever lift your arms to the sky and sing from the pure happiness of it all?
Do it.
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