It's a hard place, this southwest desert.
Things are drying up out here on the mesa.
Even the prehistoric people left this valley long ago.
The mountains have no snow on them.
Maybe my pyramid power rock will bring rain.
It's been 16 days since the last precipitation. Before that it was a record-breaking 42 days of dry weather.
In recent days it's been 68 degrees in the shade with 35mph sustained winds.
(I want to hear the thunder, feel the rain on my face, smell the air after the storm passes.)
I fear it's going to be a long, hot spring, followed by an even longer, hotter summer.
(Sun and wind. This is the New Mexico I’ve come to know all too well in the past nine years. This week was no exception, as I walked the dogs on the west mesa and tried to take pictures against the wind. Sometimes it was so strong I could not hold the camera steady.
Many mornings I lie in bed and see the sun through the curtains and I hate the thought of getting up, facing yet another day of relentless sun. I wonder why I was brought to this place, this hard and unforgiving landscape, this baked land that I cannot seem to put roots in.
Is it fair to wish for a life that was not so hard? A life where I had always made the right choices, lived in the right places, done the right thing?
Is it right to question what I have or to try harder to appreciate what is around me?
The ground is so hard here, my roots, seeking a place to call their own, won’t grow here. I feel I could, (and should), be blown away with the winds that come all to often here.
I would be blown and tumbled like a seed, landing in the soft earth, somewhere else, with rain to nourish me and snow to cool me.
A place my roots would grow. A place to call home.
Will the rain come and soften this life and this hard ground, or will the winds scatter me, scatter my thoughts, scatter my life, so I can begin again?)