And the road goes on forever...

Thursday, May 20, 2010

Some Days

The mountains here stand in stark relief to the blue, blue sky…other days, they are tainted with the haze of dust and probably smog. Treeless, they still maintain their majesty looming above everything we do on our lot because in their ruggedness they maintain their mystery. In the evenings just before sunset I sit and watch as they turn breathtakingly beautiful and rosy in the day’s last hue, accentuating every nook and cliff face. From their direction then come the bats—probably hundreds of them, although those that flap, fly, and dive over our lot number about 20-30 every evening. They provide comic relief to watch, seemingly such uncoordinated flyers yet sustaining such an important ecological niche. They make me smile; they have me know I am back in the desert.

Occasionally, tugging at my heartstrings is the desire to see trees; specifically those big old fir trees that tower thickly over the Pacific Northwest and create their own atmosphere—verdant, lush, and tangy with a crisp forest smell. I can picture the mist clinging and swirling on the coast winds. Coast withdrawal has set in with a vengeance now that the desert is…well…getting very hot. I was reminded of all this today with my daughter attending a high school friend's wedding in Coos Bay and telling me it was nice and about 60 degrees. Here: 101.

I find in the human mind that it is very difficult to imagine in real time where we are not. In other words, as we go about our day it is very difficult to also imagine ourselves in a different space than what we occupy at the moment, other than remembering our memories of when we were there. When I think of where I often walked the quay in Charleston, and think RIGHT NOW, I wonder: how are the waves; is there someone there running their dog (as I water my plants here in the desert); are the pelicans diving, the gulls crying; is the bell buoy rocking and whistling enough to be heard (as I listen to doves coo); is that crabber leaning over to just about pick up his pot; is the spotted harbor seal cruising like a submarine? Is the sun shining like it is here in Yuma?

Somehow, I can still smell the sea air when I remember and imagine. Yes, I miss it terribly. That’s why, despite redecorating our little abode here in the heat of the Yuma desert, I still hang a favorite plaque that my best friend gave me.