It had all started with the mountains, and here we are again. Arizona my sundial, has been turning. I come back for those mountains, and I stay for the saturated blues and sandstone gradients of adobe bricks and the dry, dry heat and for the deep breaths that span miles of baked desert sand and lifetimes, under an endless cosmic convergence of the stars.
I’m here in this geographic tangent just long enough to break my heart for love of clarity and freedom; each and every time I lose the mountain giants on the eastern horizon, through plane pane or roadway or mindscape. Me of late had forgotten the laws of nature, forgotten to move with my sundial though it has moved on without me while I freeze in the recompense of my wintered, weathered soul.
Early dusk solace of quiet contemplation and rhythmic sweat of the mind; a worry there, as always, where goes the mind of yesterday when the sundial lights your neurons on a different part of the world? Another shadow revealed?
Then, peace- sister, peace brother, peace friends, ease our minds, the road will be there always, to burn rubber when there’s need – and the mountains, as if they could be moved. When my world gets rocked, I must remember to breathe before I kick myself in the teeth with my own selfish compensation. A rhyme and a reason a reason and a hope – tread lightly upon that which you hold dear, and greet each horizon with a resounding roar.