A Month in the Desert

A cup of black coffee, topped with a towering spray of whipped cream, to be enjoyed in the garden. Here, a veritable jungle of orange trees, date palms, clusters of aloes, clumps of cactus frame a backyard swimming pool, the water azure and steaming. Do you hear that? A desert symphony if you listen carefully! (I hear the purr of hummingbird wings, the click of the cicada, the whisper of fronds.) Look over there! A pair of bunny rabbits, cottontailed and curious. A breakfast of blackberries and blueberries. Maybe an egg on toast. A glass of fresh squeezed orange juice. (Over the weekend, you and your cousins picked a whole box of oranges and spent the afternoon juicing an entire pitcher's worth of fresh squeezed). How about a mid-morning walk? On Sagebrush Ave, notice a front yard cactus of monumental proportions and on S. Indian Trail look for a cream colored classic cruiser parked under a row of palms. After, a meditative yoga flow. A combination of back bends and forward folds for deep relaxation. In the afternoon, the last pages of Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment before attempting Richard Wright’s Native Son. For lunch, a bowl of crisp cucumbers, the squeeze of a lemon, a sprinkle of chunky salt. Maybe some pineapple slices. A whole 64 ounces of water. One afternoon, a pop into the Palm Springs Art Museum. In the wing of Western Paintings, spend a lingering moment admiring the equestrian portraits. Later, when the sun starts to dip low, the moon starts to glow. Time to light a favorite candle (mine, a crackling wick, something floral). Under a cluster of bright stars, a poolside toke (or 10!) before an early bedtime. Save for a distant chorus of coyote calls that vibrate in the night, quiet. And then, sound sleep and dewy dreams.