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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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