Five feet above the rusty ground, swaying with each step of the horse like the rolling tides of the ocean that seems so very far away in this hot desert land. My feet light in the stirrups, my heels down, my hips grounded. My hands are low and close to the saddle horn, the bit and shanks gentle in his mouth. The wind arrives, as it always does, announcing the coming dusk. Pulling back the curtains if you will. And it is a production - this sunset with its song and dance, its

How do you clean up a lifetime of rubble, the broken bits and pieces strewn shotgun across the land. Do you sweep it under the rug and...

The ravens followed us, I’m sure of it, moving off their perch on a nearby hog trap and into the pines. And the dandelions are bigger...

It’s colder today, no doubt a function of yesterday’s wind, but at least it has ceased for now. I imagine it carries a constant presence...

It’s been a minute, since I’ve written to you my love and I am sorry for that. I have been tired, at a loss for words, swept up in this...

Unwanted. She is a mangy thing after all. Her fur a patchwork of desert sand and ash, bristled and wiry. Lush in places, starved in others. I have seen her before, this coyote, alone in the desert as we are now. No fear, no threat - only comfort. A wire fence stands between us - one of those square knotted things they use for goats or sheep, or to keep the hogs from crossing the road perhaps. They are everywhere it seems. She moves effortlessly through this wasteland, dodging

There is a woman I covet. I lose her. I find her. I lose her again and each time I hope she stays a little longer than the last. Her...

I dreamt of a coyote last night - trotting along beside me. As oblivious to my presence as I am enamored with hers. A big, scruffy, wolf-sized thing. Patchwork and wiry, fur thick in places and thin in others. The field wire between us stretched tight, its squares silver and crimped. I know this animal, I’ve seen her before. We continue forward in this manner, a makeshift boundary between us, until she comes upon a deer carcass, thin and stiff – emaciated. She takes it as her

You cannot stop another from loving you. There is only one decision – does their definition match yours? I didn’t even know I had a...

I met a man in Ajo the other day, I could see the boy in him still. Another in Columbus. Where’re ya going cowgirl? A glance downward...

Who am I and when did that question become so difficult? A mother. A writer. A woman trying to make sense of it all, balancing the past...

It is not my job to please another. Nor yours for that matter. In southern Arizona he wind is still blowing and my face is warm from the sun. The grass moves with the horse’s mane shifting to and fro and the dog continues digging - head down in a hole, rear up. He is determined, this one. Off to the east, a raven perches on a naked limb and when the horse moves off he dips down for water. But the wind, the wind has its own voice. It is a clear and true language and as I write

When I woke this morning there was snow on the mountain tops, both the Little Hatchet and her big brother to the south. It wasn’t there...

In a world of black and white I see permeations of gray. Likely some holdover from long ago when love hid in disguise behind a simple incongruency of words and actions. Behind judgement and shame. I carried it with me and took it as mine, you see. It never was. So I ride this horse. Away from the dark clouds rolling in low across the horizon, toward the clear sky where desert bleeds into more desert until nothing but the ocean stands in its way. It’s been a while, this on-the

I cannot explain myself to you – nor to me for that matter. But I can tell you, the routine of a life repeated endlessly day after day is...

This house is full of dust. It is doubtful it will ever be clean. I sweep and sweep but it penetrates every crack and crevice. And I bend...

I swing the saddle up, lean into the horse and gaze toward Mesa de Anguila - one of the least visited areas of Big Bend National Park - and she has me nervous this mesa. In knots in fact, with her switchbacks and steep inclines. I can hardly take my eyes off the rising access trail so I stand there staring a moment and then turn to pull the girth tight. The trail leads us down and into Comanche Creek where patches of fresh water stand and there I stop to let the horse drink

Big Bend National Park, Texas The first thing that changed was my hands. Short but clean nails are now dirty and ragged. Rings no longer...

If I had a secret code, it would be one of eagles and roosters. Of stars nesting in blackness. The simmer of an arced flame and the slow...

Of being alone with being lonely. You see, both have their place. Just as the sun completes the moon and the rain gives way to clear blue...