Turning over the same stone a hundred times

The wind caught my hair as I stared into the desert. Mirages danced before my eyes, sundances fit for summer cocktails. Long, billowing hair, freshly pressed linen, the subtle glimmer of jewels as bodies screamed in undulation.

Photo by Jim Witkowski on Unsplash

I clamor for the desert because it is the brightest dust that holds the loftiest pearls of wisdom. Alongside me, the cacti meditate with their stores of precious water, which only the craftiest animals can puncture and devour. For all time, they will sit, they will sit in silence and grow. Their path to heaven is the longest, straight from the dirt and the clay, but their nutrients are vast and the rain brings promises. They keep these things for themselves.

I will revisit the arcing clouds that wilt in the mid-day sun. The heat of the day does not mar them, as they steam away into nothing. They are renewed in the beautiful blue horizon, they will stretch farther than my retinas can imagine them to. A daily metamorphosis. I think I can change daily too. I can recall at random a touching moment from years prior. A moment that only came to me then, and will not come back in that context ever again. I deserve a unique reflection on my experiences that my exact mood upon…