We’d finally had rain. I was standing in a clearing on the heavily forested mountain. Though the drought had been brief, I had been worried. My house is made of old wood and sits amid the oaks – forest fires are worrisome.
I took a deep breath and felt the week’s stress being expelled with my exhale and the day’s fragrance of much needed rain inhaled bringing a sense of well-being. I felt my inner compass shift to true north. I was where I needed to be when I needed to be there. At ease, relaxed, and enjoying the silence save that of the bird song. I should make this walk a part of my daily routine. I vowed to do so. But I’ve made this vow before. Real life has such a hold on me. I really do need to make more room for the magic and peace inherent in my surroundings. I was fortunate to live in a forest and I should maximize it. But there are so many shoulds in my life. It’s hard to accommodate them all.
I was born in Twenty-nine Palms, California which is part of the Joshua Tree National Forest.
Robert Plant wrote a song titled 29 Palms.
I feel the heat of your desert heart (Feel the heat of your desert heart) Leading me back down the road that leads back to you.
We left that part of California when I was very small. I have no memory of the place. We did drive through the Painted Desert on our way back from Hawaii, but it was night and didn’t leave much of an impression.
Thus, I hadn’t seen my birthplace since a year or so after my birth.
I had the opportunity nine years ago to go there and I did. I have a photo of me at what was basically the Visitors Center for Twenty-nine Palms. For some reason, they had a metal sculpture of Cinderella’s pumpkin coach.
I am not making this up.
I have a photo.
The Cinderella Coach was the highlight. Well, it tied with the small oasis.
Warmth and sun, oh how I need it. I have slid the cover of the moonroof back on my car. My commute this morning should be glorious. The window itself is closed but light will flood the car.
Oh, how my pineal gland needs the stimulation. Homemade vitamin D coursing through my body. I will almost be able to hear the birdsong off in the woods as I rumble down the interstate. I will take the exit through the park today to check out the gardens and trees of the rich folk. I expect daffodils and redbud and pear. Perhaps the dogwood will be starting.
It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark. Dark still. The early morning sun yanked away. The early spring taken too. Winter. Full blown and the calendar reads March 14th. Not too late for cold and snow, but there had been such hope.
I hope the daffodils survived. Early and glorious this year. A field of yellow outside my kitchen window. I kept meaning to cut some for my office. Today is the day. If they are not frostbitten.
There were hard frost warnings last night. Which winter does that make this? It’s too early for Redbud winter though the dogwoods are already blooming. Or are those pear trees? White blossoms on the hillside.
A soft winter. A warm winter. No snow to speak of. Climate change is upsetting the rhythms of our life. Wait until it really gets going.