Crazyhorse

The dream I never wakened from, the night that never ends

Is moonlight on the desert floor, a dream designed to mend

The heart that seeks the rhythm of the earth, the stars, the sage.

My living breath will ever be tied to the desert's ways.

Coyote Country

We are strangers here, trespassers in the land of wild things. 

Upheaval

Everywhere you look, there are signs of the geological upheaval that created this land.  From volcanoes to massive heights to canyons, there is a sense of ancientness, and of upheaval in the growth of the planet's landscape.

Moonscape

As a storm rolls across the mesa, the sunlight dances on the terrain creating a laser light show, changing the landscape from second to second.  I stand in the wind, immersing myself in nature at its finest.

High Wires

The sky and shadows are an ever-moving kaleidoscope, changing the scenery in a non-stop picture show.  The sunlight dances on the wires and gives them an appearance of glowing.

Through a Hoot Owl's Eyes

During the day, this tree sits alone outside of my window.  It provides no shade, unable to block the sun in its wintry barrenness.  But at night, it becomes a favorite perch for a pair of Hoot Owls.  I'm serenaded through the wee hours by the mournful call of one, followed by the haunting echo of the other.  Their voices soothe the night and compliment the rise and traverse of Orion across the sky. 

Cane Cholla

The winter snows have left the high desert looking like a crazy latticework, the cholla cacti providing a skeletal easel for the snow-painting. The air is thin, the cold is tangible, and the silence is absolute.

So many times I have stood in this same spot in the height of summer, feeling closer to the sky than even the hawks.  And yet, I've never been here before.  Arctic storms have created a place that's never been, and one that will no longer be when winter passes.

The seasons change, and the desert - a living, breathing entity - changes from moment to  moment.  Spring will come and the high country will emerge from its winter sleep in riotous color. The chollas will bloom, splashing the desert floor with brilliant pink among the yellows and oranges that light up the landscape. 

The sage will add its muted and tender greens and lavenders, and the breeze will carry the scents that blend more perfectly than any designer perfume has yet to match.  Only nature can do this.  Only life can invoke this kind of magic.  The desert is alive.