October 25, 2014
Just getting my bearings, I chose to edit a previous post. You can find the original here. It’s good to be back. Peace, ~v.
The bougainvillea blooms all year round. The beautiful purple-pink flowers belie the thorny vines that lie just underneath the blooms. From a distance, with the sun at their backs, and with one eye closed, I can almost picture an Arizona sunset. The reds and pinks and purples of the bougainvillea and the Arizona sunsets mesh together to make sitting outside in 120°F (49°C) worth the sweat.
And the sweat in the small of my back, it clings to the polyester blend, black abaya I wear and simply sits there. The ever present moisture lies on the surface of both my skin and the non-absorbent material of my long-sleeved, long skirt, neck-high “dress”. It helps keep the desert sand at bay. That fine grained, almost silt, that permeates every inch of life until it becomes me.
It becomes me in the sand that blows through the cracks. And blows the wind so subtle that were it not for the fog-like emissions of the oil fields, I would never know it was blowing.
Night sneaks up, bringing with him the fog. The murky fog rolls in and over the desert. It’s time to slip inside and leave the night to the Night. And as I lazily climb the sturdy, sandy stairs to my room with a view, thoughts drift to Carl Sandburg…
The fog comeson little cat feet.It sits lookingover harbor and cityon silent haunchesand then moves on.