Desert Walks

In mountain wilderness, my habit is to walk from sunrise to sunset. Friends have suggested that I should pause more, that I should "be in" rather than "move through.” But if a meditation serves the spirit, why meddle? Buddhists chant, Dervishes dance, I hike. And sense of place slips in quietly through body's urban armor.

But here, the desert sun insists on a change. The waterless, sandy stream beds shimmer with heat waves. And where friends' platitudes have failed, sun trumps mind's will to move. Body, wiser than mind, has closed down – eyes, nose, ears, even skin cringes in the heat.

Midday Sun: I travel short distances, from pool to pool – pools of water, pools of shade – seeking out springs in lusty anticipation, wetting hat and neckband, letting hands and feet linger – sensuous meanders in muddied places shared with tadpoles.

Late Afternoon: Sun's glare diminishes. Body's senses slowly unfold. Skin opens to a slight breeze as to a lover's caress. Eyes inherited from a people who evolved in the filtered light of forest canopy begin again to take in.

Dusk: Frogs sing their lust; bees hum in blooms of yellow barberry. An owl's call; the yip of a coyote – signals that I'm part of a celebration of dusk's softness. Only a few hours ago, the junipers sagged like dusty tramps; now their turquoise berries glow; grasses pulse with iridescent greens; alpenglow creeps up sandstone walls. The desert dances in color!

Darkness: I reach camp, gather food and drink and slide into the campfire circle.

land of little water–
it's the walking
that washes you clean

Published in Roadrunner Haiku Journal, February 2007.

The haiku-aphorism is modelled on one by my friend & poet Chris Bullock.