Lessons I Learned About Deserts This Winter

Seattle’s winter taught me something new: deserts hate me. In the deepest cold of February, as the upper left coast shivered in a frigid, deeply embrace, my skin burned. Cracking, peeling, bleeding, the lack of moisture in the air brutalized me. Far more painful that I remember.

Over the years I dreamt of journeys through the Southwest. Wandering the desert canyons, a soundtrack featuring R. Carlos Nakai, perhaps tied to a writer’s retreat, I explore the zen within the arid land. Tranquility filling my soul.

Now I fear my skin crumbling off my bones. Needing to bathe in moisturizer. Not the most pleasant imagery.

Perhaps my mind exaggerates. It often plays such tricks on me. The dream still lingers. No harm, I guess, in holding that. Maybe the tranquility compensates for the damaged skin.

Such randomness within in my mind.

Unfamiliar with R. Carlos Nakai’s music? His native flute music carries me deep within, speaking to my depths.

 

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Tonight’s Haiku: An Evening Walk

Walking near the shore

Sunlight gracefully setting

My mind is swirling

It’s been a rough couple of days. A few moments of peace were very welcome. Walking and writing poetry connect me to the greater grace of the universe. And I’m grateful.

I’m grateful for you, too, dear readers. The likes and comments make me feel like I add value to your lives with my shaped words. So, thank you for reading, liking and commenting! It lightens the heavier loads in my life.