Changes Coming

I say to the southwest landscape

"Soon, you will be a memory."

I bless the space where I live

"Thank you for your gifts."

I turn my gaze northeast and hear

"Your roots will guide you."

I Got High

Windy Point Vista

I got high on Wednesday!

Okay, I got 5,000 feet higher on Wednesday.

Fine, if you want specifics, my husband and I drove the S-curve road up nearby Mt. Lemmon on Wednesday to go hiking -- the Bigelow Trail was at an elevation about 5,000 feet higher than where Tucson is in the valley.

I was thrilled to be walking -- and sitting -- beneath huge, old Ponderosa Pines!

I brought along Widget's carrier in case he got tired, but he was quite the trooper, sniffing and usually leading the way.

Phoenix the Corgi was with us as well, but was hanging back with my husband.

Before heading back down to Tucson, we stopped for pizza and a snack at the Cookie Cabin in Summerhaven. YUM!

The drive to the Bigelow and Butterfly trails is about an hour and a half from our home, but the trip was well worth the reward. I definitely need to do it more often.

Monsoon 2013

In the Sonoran Desert, let me tell you that I have a whole new appreciation for rain! Especially after the skin-chapping three months we just had of a hot, dry spring! So, I'm sharing my itty-bitty video of Sunday's rain. I always go out and stand in the rain for a few minutes; it seems disrespectful not to!



And look at this beautiful microburst video from July 1.



However, it's not just the extreme dryness of spring and then the rainfall in summer that's thrown me because the monsoon season in Tucson can also result in flash floods. Some of these in the past have been very destructive, washing away homes as well as cars.

Sure, I know. Most of you reading this are like I was before and rain storms are the norm for you and where you live. They're beautiful and fascinating and much appreciated for making the gardens grow. But trust me. This is my third Arizona monsoon and the rainfall becomes more of an event for me each year.

The first one, I'd just moved to Arizona so I found it interesting, but, hey, I came direct from Maine where it rains a LOT. And, besides, I was living up near Phoenix that year (2011) so was more amazed by the massive dust storms that came through. Here's a video clip one of those:



The second monsoon last year was wonderful, too, but I had enjoyed the dry spring because it was so unusual. Of course, I'm a wuss so I don't get out and drive when the rains are on! I have to rely on videos by those who are less...uh...cautious. And I worry about Ron until he gets home from work.



THIS YEAR? Oh yeah. After the overwhelming cumulative heat wave? Major gratitude for monsoon rains. It is no wonder that people around here have parties celebrating monsoon season. It's true. So, while I celebrate the rain with play and dance, I also respect its suddenness and ferocity. Then there's the lightning storms...

Who would have thought this about the desert? Reading about it ahead of time is one thing. Experiencing it is something else. Everywhere is different! Mother Nature shrugs and cries and turns into a whirling dervish, She wraps us in white blankets and shakes us free again. After all, snowstorms and ice storms in the north were common, and how many times were we without power for hours, even days?!

Anyway, to wrap this up, if you're the type who likes to get a little more education about different parts of our amazingly diverse country, check out this five-part series on the monsoon season in Arizona.

Blooming Cholla

The many varieties of Cholla are blooming, as is the Ocotillo, and the Prickly Pear is just starting. Along with myriad other plants, these desert survivors continue to blossom and thrive, which is still amazing to me since we haven't received any rain in weeks. As I walked through the desert, splashes of bright color met me in every direction.

Don't the Ocotillo flowers look like birds?

Red Flowers on Cholla Cactus

Cholla, Ocotillo and a young Saguaro

Yellow Flowers on Cholla Cactus

I don't know what this bush is but it's everywhere!

The Bottlebrush tree in our yard, in full bloom!

Mountain Song

From the spring on the mountain top 

gushes forth in scintillating silver 

the voices of every droplet of moisture 

that has collected within the wells of wisdom 

and we are jubilant in Her abundance. 

Song explodes around us 

and from within Her core 

we know our One Soul, 

our joined Spirit that unifies this planet 

into a beautiful biosphere. 

We see and hear and give voice to

the truth of individuality and same -- 

the song of dichotomy that makes no sense 

but is perfectly at home in our hearts. 

Truth and love are settled in each others arms, 

cradled in our hearts, 

and they sing us to sleep 

as we rock them gently 

within the mountain currents.

Starting to Show

Abundance of flowers just starting to show, to burst out.

Vital, yellow, green ... stamens extending far beyond the petals

and waggling in the wind

shaking with the barest hint of air upon them

profuse and prominent.

Not only does this agave produce

phallic symbol extraordinaire,

the thousands of blossoms shoot forth boldly

like a rush of sperm all striving to survive.

The agave says in its awareness of the

union of sacred masculine and divine feminine energies ...

"Before I die, I am going to sow everything I've got,

producing seeds galore.

For years I've lived a steady life, growing, expanding, building, patient, nurturing.

Now, as I near death, now is the time to give back in profusion.

I feel the need to produce as many seeds of wisdom as possible, 

to spread myself around, to move and be transported elsewhere, everywhere,

my seeds going wherever there is the potential for growth."

Between Rocks and a Hard Place

Desert Blooms

Fairy Duster

Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum

Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum

Tohono Chul Park, Tucson

Of Oranges and Agave

The oranges continue to drop 

-- thud! plop! -- 

upon the ground, 

some from over-ripening 

and others assisted in the descent 

by a hungry woodpecker poking holes. 

There's one with a hole!

The woodpeckers also fly

from one agave stalk to the other,

pecking away

(alas, I didn't get any photos of the birds).

Merely two weeks ago, 

the agave were barely awake and stretching.

But, the multicolored poles of agave 

are shooting up fast in their race to touch the sun. 

The leader is currently well over six feet tall 

and none of them are giving any hints 

as to how high they intend to reach. 

Spiky spindles 

expand and contract; 

I can almost hear them 

breathing and growing 

at impressive speed. 

Because I don't know what kind of agave live in our yard,
everything they do is a beautiful surprise!

Heard In The Echo

Echo Canyon at Chiracahua National Monument, AZ

Bubble rocks bouncing echoes in the canyon, my heart so light that I could be the echo instead of the voice of origin. I could be the memory instead of the presence that feels the pressures of daily lifestyle; I might become the echo that is soft and faint and that everyone wants to hear. 

In fascination we call out to listen whether an echo will bounce back to us so we can know what we said, what our melody was. Do we not listen to ourselves the first time? Can we not hear our own voice truthfully? Is this why we want the echo to call back to us the wisdom that is held within it? 

Is it merely a copy or do the earth and rock and air and moisture imbue the echo with a resonance of wisdom our voice didn’t previously have? Is our pure self resonating back to us in return for the courage to speak? 

Is the air heard in the echo; does it feel the brush of feather and cloud whisking the sound into a blur of memory, painting it into a clear, light whisper?

Is the rock heard in the echo; does it fill the space with solid truth and allow the weight of our words to be heard and sent on their way as they can never be recalled?

Is the water heard in the echo; does it mirror from puddles in crevices and dew upon leaves, and hold safety within the sap of the juniper and the flesh of yucca, where the fluid moisture can caress and soften the echo to return to our ears as self-love?

Who goes there? Where are the unseen?

Dragons of the watchtowers, holding the elements and directions, their vibrations sing to creation of our universe as they flap their wings, and rain fire, and live in caves, and cry tears of grief and laughter into the rivers that flow to the oceans above and below. They are courage and inspiration, partners in journey and growth, knowing the piercing truth revealed in the fires of transformation that create and dissolve then manifest once more. 

Gaia cradles the beasts who warm our imaginations and keep us safe. She gives birth to the discerning flames riding wings of sheer breathless joy and She lands upon a nest of infinite possibility as their voices rise into space and fall into canyons to be swept away by rivers to the ocean once more. 

Dragons live in Echo Canyon, see them swoop and soar among the magical spires where they epitomize grace and cast shadows we run from until we realize we can never hide---the dragons only want to carry us into awakening. Hear their ancient voices echo ...

Deep Within

Incredible. Awe inspiring. I will never again be able to walk Mother Earth without reflecting upon the beauty She holds within; birthed to us, gestated, menstruated, bleeding all the colors and shades of rainbow minerals, earthen glory outshining even the stars in Her diversity. Splendid. Magnificent. 

Deep gratitude for eyes to have seen within this immersion Her deep secrets and treasures revealed -- I weep in Her presence to know Her glory above and below.

I was able to shift my focus and receptors to enjoy the crowded sensation of going to the Tucson Gem Show and so glad I did! We were blessed by chilly, cloudy morning so the crowds were held off a few hours and I was able to thoroughly adapt to and enjoy the exhibits and displays of hundreds of thousands of gems, minerals, rocks, and fossils. 

From this immersion, I was gifted with not only a wonderful day of walking, exploration and delight in Ron’s company, but also a visceral connection with Gaia’s inner world of embodiment as Mother Earth. We’ve all been exposed to the beauties of silver and gold, emerald and diamond, of amber and salt crystals in smaller amounts, through shop windows, special jewelry. But how to experience the abundance and sheer magnitude that truly pervades the depths of Earth Mother? An "world's largest" exhibit that is spread throughout an entire city can express this to some degree. 

As I walked in reverence among the familiar and exotic unknown, I simultaneously gave thanks for the joy of Gaia’s splendor and offered healing for the penetration She had been subjected to by those who may have been thoughtless seekers of jeweled treasures. 

The sheer bounty and magnificence was nearly overwhelming during my first outing on Tuesday but yesterday, after shifting my perception and placing some conscious energetic boundaries, the day and its grandeur were amazing ... I was such a small piece of the macrocosm that is Gaia. “Deep in the earth I go...” indeed! 

I could imagine myself on a trail tunneling through cave after cave where She displayed remarkable wonders with infinite variety. At some moments I could know my shallow breathing as the awe swept away my air, and at others I was vibrating in rapid-pounding, pulsing, foot-tapping joy as Her gorgeous rock and ancient fossils surrounded me on all sides. 

Whenever and wherever I walk now I will wonder what beauty lies beneath the surface. Wondering, if I go deeply enough, beyond the soil that grows my food, beneath the water table that slakes my thirst, beneath the ever-expanding veins of Gaia’s blood, will I find new wonders? More beauty and heart-breaking magnificence? This is never to discount the beauty above, or the rich dark soil, or the broad expanse of sands that shimmer or the deep red rock of a mountain, or the warm brown tones of tile. These are gentle, soothing, life giving resonances that cradle and support. But now I also feel further and know other wonders previously hidden or felt they were ‘elite’ to a select few. The bounty of the rocks available shows once more that Gaia always provides enough for everyone ... and more than enough were we to be conscious of Her treasures. She is the ultimate artist and Creatrix. I was humbled by the artistry She holds within Her body earth. We take out and use these gifts -- shining, cutting, polishing ... but all begins with Her and within Her. 

She is creativity and inspiration and beauty beyond compare. I am but a unique cell among billions that grow out of Her. And the stones speak, the earth calls, Her voice crystal clear.

An unexpected experience was when we stumbled upon the African Art Village, see my post on Ancestors ... 

drink from the cup we swim within

Unable to stay away from the pitter patter of rain upon stone and tree and seat cushions who soak up the liquid jewels falling from the sky that earlier looked so menacing and now is opaque and comforting. 

Pouring into my heart more compassion long awaited, the knowing that is so familiar it makes my heart ache within an expanding chest, ribs flexing and softening as the rain fills my marrow with red delight. 

The patio is broad enough to allow my presence in dryness while I marvel at the abundant source of life. 

It comes from above! 

Raining down and bubbling up and puddling among the dense earth as it seeks a crack here, a nook there, for in the desert, finding a way deeper into the earth is a challenge, the soil like concrete, hardened by extremes of heat and arid breath like being baked in a kiln that is hundreds of miles in jagged circumference. 

But the rain fills the once-fired pot, even large as it is, and we drink from the precious cup that we swim within.

The cool breath of winter returns for a few minutes to remind me of the transitional seasonal swayings of She who dances among the cosmos and into the world She descends, dancing her tap shoes in the raindrops of love, and leaping across the sky, a graceful arc wherein She is the ballerina of heaven, and I can hear be-bop around the corner as the rhythm changes. 

I participate in her sock-hop where the gym becomes my back yard, and the girls’ full skirts are the dancing orange leaves twirling, held on strong stems of escorts that don’t want to let go, they hold hands and feel the beat of Goddess drums among the clouds, hidden yet heard.

Her message alternates between soothing dulcet whispers of cave-doves and the rambunctious trilling of the birds huddled within the protective branches of a creosote releasing its malodorous perfume into the moisture-laden air to remind me if I close my eyes that what sounds like a pine forest is definitely not.

My nose starts to drip like the tip of the agave frond already sharpened by heat and then frost, burned and withered and limp at the end of a magnificent sword leaf with razor edges in pastel shades that soothe like the gel of its sister aloe.

I shiver as a chill finds its way beneath the itchy gray wool of my poncho, creeping up my spine to flick the invisible hairs at the nape of my neck. 

Seems like all I can do is be here and relax, feel Her presence, and return to the space of being and writing. Bliss. 

To land in my familiar world of ink and paper, in flowing thought that echoes the bird haw-hawing on the nearby tree. 

Chirps and haws, flaps of wings. Do they know I’m here? 

Huddled in the only dry corner, a small space of witness to the world being plundered and saturated as She empties Her buckets into the board expansive cauldron of life; in spring, the mountains will erupt in a profusion of wildflowers, grateful for winter rains, storing the liquid gems in roots and underground pockets of rocky cisterns.

Breathing deeply, I feel the moisture on nose hair and delicate membranes that swell like a sponge to embrace the precious water floating in the air. 

At the top of the inhale, I pause and savor the cool refreshing moisture. 

All above is gray, all below is brown, yet the leaves already seem more vibrant and the totem pole cactus reveals a slick sheen upon its naked bumps as if polished to go to a dance forgetting its already here.

The clouds hover low among the mountains creating mystery and magic, hiding what is normally so apparent as it wraps the hard edges in pale felt scarves without color yet exuding a plethora of joy. 

Can joy be colorless? 

Can it dance the Divine without a rainbow shawl? 

Muted love is falling around us like the graceful gospel of Her melody playing around the elemental harp that is a desert’s guise. 

See Her eyes? There among the drifting spirals of mist, just above the veil of giggling song are Her orbs of granite and green. 

See Her smile as She releases the veil and all of Her charms are revealed; She will soon dance naked among the stars and desert cholla, jumping and resting, sublime in Her expressions of extreme. 

Spike

Spike has grown fairy flowers -- tiny, yellow, beloved of bees. The five-petal flowers huddle along the edges, between the barbs, protruding from the thin edge rather than the soft center. A delicate display of darlings that arch their backs in the sunshine, open-hearted, and smiling into breath. 

The golden ginger in my tea bites the tip of my tongue like one of the barbs protecting diminutive flowers that often bunch in threes on satin skin, contrast dancing hand-in-hand. 

The flowers speak as one: 

“I am the container for the mid-spaces, the nectar of the in-betweens for those rushing edges and intense barbs. I blossom in the middle of extremes, often out on a ledge of vision and inspiration, inhaling every breeze and nuance of color that plummets from the sky or pushes up from the earth as She breathes. My nibs have bloomed in a moment of daring. I offer my soma to the occasional stray bee who has flown off his path seeking something more than the others in his hive. Will he tell others about me? He has to make lots of stops, pausing as he buzzes from one fragile waxen flower to another, picking up bitty amounts of precious pollen one pinhead dot at a time. He flies away but then comes right back ... “just a little more” he says and then gathers. Does he wonder if he will ever get enough? I rest in the peace of offering what I have created, blooming through both dark and light.”

Fall-ing

Feliz Paseos Park

Yesterday I spent several hours walking the trails of Feliz Paseos Park, immersed in nature, joyful and at peace (and, yes, the sky really was that blue!). Yet this is not the fall season I’m used to; it remains unfamiliar with its own mysterious changes and colors ... bronze mountains deepen into solidity, red rocks sharpen, burnished copper leaves reveal themselves upon plants I don’t recognize, cacti seem to suck their reserves in tight, and balls of fluffy seeds seem anxious for a strong gust of liberating wind. Then, in contrast, this morning I fall into a memorial day-dream of autumnal familiarity rooted in decades of northern cycles ... 

      Molasses running through my veins, slow and rich, thick and dark, smelling of long walks deep in the woods where magic happens with every foot that is raised upon the path of knowing and the air dances in meditation upon the belly of joy and wonder as I ease into each moment glowing from within, shades of amber and pitch flowing in oozing alternation, warming in gentle waves. 

     The padded loam of un-tilled soil cushions my steps while It twinkles the winks of earthworms creating abundant life hidden from view by those unaware but I see their mystery as I stare down below and praise their gifts wherever I go. Inhaling the purple decay of leaves once in flight, now grounded in transition. I am happily lost, wandering among memories for a moment. 

     The dark chocolate depths of the forest flood me with sweet tasting peace, the pine trees bless me with a light rain of pointed confetti falling upon cheek and tangling in hair, the last of autumn leaves cling quivering upon stark bones the color of dreaming. Dark chocolate bites into my skin as a limb reaches out further than I thought, distance a deception here in the woods where we are all equally capable of witnessing change and sensation. Alternating patterns as the earthy cakes of heaven are made, a shake of cinnamon with a rusty tingle, a pinch of granulated sugar is the crunch of tan leaves fallen and disintegrating beneath feet wishing they were bare.

Feliz Paseos Park

     Fall that heralds the winter ... the delectable slowing where we can be most at home, the welcoming slumber of lengthening night and the cool bright days that sharpen our delight. The softening of crisp apples grown in the sun and baked in the heat of a dark oven until their juice thickens and flows with an exquisite concentration of nectar, melting without effort in eager open mouths. 

     Intensity abates and relaxation becomes a resting place deep within that is mirrored in nature and vice versa. Don’t struggle against the creamy dark chocolate that overlays the rainbow skittles, for each has its place, and soon enough the wheel shall turn into stimulation of seeds that become a new growth of life-sustaining offerings. 

     I let myself fall, face forward into the bed of leaves and needles that permeate my senses, begin to sink, to disappear, my skin wrinkles and shrinks, losing vibrancy and flexibility, disintegrating into the welcoming leaves beneath me as more glide onto my back, covering me like a patchwork quilt. I breathe in the verdant pine still humming within the fading shells and resonance rises up through my nose where tendrils of aromatic bliss wind into brain and mind before expanding downward through all my channels, spreading peace and release. The full moon smiles Her love as I become shadow, then scatter to and fro, my form no more. I sleep and am a vapor that lifts to touch the white face of the Divine then drifts down once more sinking into the Sacred, and I am simply One ... breathing.

Tucson Mountain Park

_______________

[“dark chocolate” was today's ClarityWorks writing prompt; I had already written the first two paragraphs upon waking so when I saw the prompt, it fed another stream into the existing river of expression already flowing]

Spiral Woman

A woman stands in a field, and then spins, twirling, not knowing which direction to go or even to look toward . . . arms flung wide, spinning, so many options and she can't stop spinning, becoming dizzy until she drops, resting at last among the field of flowers that cover all the graves of other women who didn't know where to go or who to turn to, not realizing that they only had to look within to find the stillness and a pure guide that would point the direction of life that would be strong and full.


A woman stands in a field, the plow sturdy beneath roughened palms, the rows behind her circle gently into a spiral, and the horse before her calls out, tossing its head full of mane and spirit, inviting her to pause in her work. The woman steps away from the tool, releases the harness, and, grasping a handful of coarse hair, flings herself high onto the back of the horse and they are off, galloping across the field, into the woods, up the mountain . . . they lean forward together, one Being, as legs tighten around a full chest breathing powerfully and four legs run uphill, muscles bunching and releasing, incredible endurance even after a day of plowing the field; once freed, the horse knows only the pure joy of running, and they breathe as One, nearing the top, and then they pause, chests heaving, nostrils flaring. Together they see all directions from the peak -- past, present, and future. And peace descends like a soft mist enveloping them in its cool embrace, pleasantly blinding them to all but the present moment. Breathing returns to normal as they stand as One, heads bowed in Grace.


A woman stands in a field, lost, slumping . . . she looks up and sees a vision upon the mountain, she sees a Being of Beauty: horse and woman as one. She sees freedom and power, grace and strength to move forward without knowing the destination because she will be safe and guided once she accepts and welcomes her own wisdom. She keeps her eyes on the woman-horse, and lifts a foot -- for a moment the golden shackle is heavy, but she continues lifting her foot, and believing, and all resistance dissolves as the shackle's lock falls apart and the gold breaks into a thousand pieces that begin glowing and rise into the sky like sparks from a campfire chasing each other across the field. And the woman walks, first slowly, then with more confidence, across the the field that held her sweetly grounded, but knowing now was her time to fly and, eyes upon the horse-woman, she transforms into an owl, a tiny Elf Owl who will fly both day and night, witness to all that is in the world, until she creates her own nest among the saguaro forest.

Elf Owl at AZ-Sonora Desert Museum

A woman stands in a field, then is spinning in joy, knowing she can pause any time to run or soar or fall back among the daisies waving happily all around her in encouragement and support. No more sad waiting or spinning without direction. Gallop or soar into the world of imagination and do it now!

____________
The above stream-of-consciousness piece came out of the ClarityWorks prompt "a woman stands in a field" but was clearly influenced by an image of a horse I saw this morning on fb, as well as the Elf Owl I saw Wednesday at the Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum. Ron and I had both agreed that the Elf Owl won the "cutest critter of the day" award; some amazing photos of the Elf Owl are HERE.

A week ago, before the rains came, Ron helped a pigeon in the park quench his thirst and cool his head! See the short video below.

Desert Rain

Heavy falling

pouring rain on

hard packed soil

where puddles form

and flash-floods manifest

quick as a wink . . . 

     This is the desert within the contrast of sudden rain and stunning in its sense of sublime urgency and ecstatic connection to the flowing source of life.
     Walking a desert path, cool in the early morning air, with water trickling along the rocky definitions and sandy rivulets, toes wet and gritty.
     Most of the animals up and about, sniffing the air, and some are restless with the invigorating watery abundance so rare and precious.
     The air smells odd, so different from the rainy days in Maine with its overtones of grass and humus and blossoms of some kind somewhere exuding a rich, thick scent. Here, the air smells of dust raised by droplets hitting a dry pavement of soil, and aroma of a release of scents from a surface where all had lain dormant for such a long time in waiting; it smells of the past.
     Riparian exhibits now almost overwhelming in the cloying scent of water life maintained but now bursting with the extra moisture.

     Mountain lion and bobcat are roaming their large enclosures, climbing up and down the rocky paths, noses lifted up, sometimes breathing through open mouths to test the scents with unique organs catching even more subtle scents.
     I enjoy being with them, walking the paths in the stopping/starting rainfall, my clothes soaked, hat brim bending while water gathers on it and drops through the tiny holes of tightly woven straw. Pause under a tree during a particularly heavy fall, chilling skin reveals goosebumps from the cold drops, then walking again, allowing the air to dry me.

     The Javelina had "bolted for shelter" at one sudden deluge, the keeper said, as she now hurried to let them out again. Their coarse hair all spiky, the interesting not-pigs-though-they-look-like-them-at-first-glance quickly trot into the open space for fruit and vegetables left behind moments earlier.
     I feel conflicting emotions of gratitude to be with and witness some of the amazing creatures of the desert, living in as natural a habitat as possible, and that of sadness to see them confined and 'kept' rather than running free.
     And yet, I feel an honesty to the purpose of this place -- the desire to help people experience the wonders of life in the desert in order to inspire a desire to save our desert, our natural wonders, to admire and appreciate all the creatures who live here . . . to save 'the wilds' and figure out how to co-exist for the benefit of both human and wildlife. This place engenders a different sense than most 'zoos' I've been to (and to which I have a hard time going anymore). I feel a respect and a dedication emanating from this place, and from the people who work here -- the majority of whom are volunteers, not paid employees. In our ignorance and greed, so much of our Mother Earth has been and is being destroyed. This place is an effort to bring awareness to the forefront; to experience moments with flora and fauna who are incredible survivors is inspiring. If they can adapt to such an extreme environment--and thrive here--couldn't we all adapt to peaceful co-existence and co-thriving?

     "The mission of the Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum is to inspire people to live in harmony with the natural world by fostering love, appreciation and understanding of the Sonoran Desert." 

_______________
This is where Ron and I spent our holiday morning, as I purchased an annual membership and we walked for hours delighting in the animals, the plants, and the glorious cool temperature brought by the monsoon rains. I know that I will spend many more hours here, especially in the winter, since we live a mere 15 minutes' drive away. The Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum is celebrating its 60th Birthday as a unique interpretative museum, zoo and botanical garden. (P.S. Sorry for the poor photo quality; digital zoom just isn't that great!)

Experiences

My 16-yr-old niece Kenzie and her new  boyfriend;
he's stable and reliable. She met him at
Colossal Cave, AZ.

Love the 'dreadlocks' on the Saguaro at
Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum.

Mount Lemmon, with Tucson to the left and way below.

Mom and Kenzie in Sedona, AZ.

Kenzie at Grand Canyon.

The road to Jerome, AZ.
We survived the 158 curves in 12 miles!

Tuzigoot National Monument, AZ, with the
Verde River valley.

Kenzie at Montezuma Castle, AZ

On our way home, between Phoenix and Tucson, got caught
in the first significant dust storm of the Monsoon season.

My family was visiting for two weeks so we had a full house! Air mattresses are a great invention. The first week, we hosted Mom, my brother David, and nieces McKenzie (16) and McKayla (12). Then, took David and Kayla to the airport as they had commitments back in Missouri, while, during the second week, Mom, Kenzie and I took off for sightseeing up north. We didn't get to Sunset Crater or Wupatki ruins; maybe next time. Dear hubby Ron stayed home and took care of the dogs and cats. :-)

Points

There is a point we often must come to
before we can partake of the
sweetness.

Our fruit begins growing again

almost immediately

after the bounty has been harvested

and the blossoms of inspiration

have fallen.

Growing slowly

ever present within the leafy bower
that never vanishes
remaining full
hiding thorns and fruit alike.

Only knowing the sharp and sweet

are there when we get closer

when we explore the fullness

during the between time--presence.

Not the time of harvest when we

show off the fruits of long labor . . . 
fruit bright, glowing gold
blatantly obvious against contrasting green.

The between time--

after the last ripening 

and before it comes again--

the long cycle of between 

so beautiful and bountiful 

in its passage of presence.

Welcoming the entire cycle
grow and acquire
discernment--
the points of Truth and Wisdom
that can be brutal if
we don't see them
in this moment.


Points in our journey

making themselves known

very clearly and sharply

whether we want them to or not.

The only way we aren't
hurt, scratched, tender flesh ripped
is when we open our hearts
look closely and see
the thorns on the way to the fruit . . . 
on our journey through
leafy hideaways where green fruit gestates.

No point in trying to eat the fruit too soon

before we are ready

for we will only taste the bitterness 

of grasping.

When we simply enjoy the process
welcome the long between
of growing awareness,
the pricks are less often
the way is to soften
as leaves glow with invitation
to sit in the shade
pour waters of loving-kindness
and bless the moment.

Then, before we realize

there is once more golden orange light

everywhere within the tree of life

and the juicy ripeness squirts out

--no thorns touch us--

bathing us in passionate sweetness.

________________
I don't know if all orange trees have thorns, but those in our yard in Tucson do!