writing prompt

Twenty-nine Palms

/ wvfurandroot / 1 Comment

I expected to love the desert.

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. 

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They Had Had Too Much

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The day the women had had enough will be remembered. 

I believe, after the dust settles and the men get over themselves, we will come to revere the anniversary of the Women’s Rebellion.  For years people have spouted that famous proverb  “When sleeping women wake, mountains move.”

We have awakened.  We are woke.   And we have had quite enough thank you very much.

Photo by Gayatri Malhotra on Unsplash

I was proud to be with the women of my town on what began as a sleepy Saturday, August afternoon.  Congress made their announcement, timed for the weekend so as to escape the news cycle.  During the dog days of summer when they thought we were sleeping.  It was my birthday and I thought,, “How dare they!”  HOW fucking DARE THEY.  And I don’t use that word.  But I used it a lot that Saturday. 

On my birthday.  To make such an announcement.  I was not surprised, but I was outraged.  I hadn’t considered that all of womanhood would be as incensed. 

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Redbud Winter

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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.

Photo by Dulcey Lima on Unsplash

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.

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