Maybe I’ll wake up and that’s what I’ll think. For everything to be completely fresh, how wonderful, when all the old myths fall away and nothing drowns me in the morning.
A time when I was out here (not this time) I saw a smallish bird I’d never seen before. Some kind of flycatcher, I’d say. Small and predatory in a soft-shimmering gold, as it bobbed atop a sagebrush in the breeze. Again, I’d never seen one like it, yet I sort of gathered what it was. Moisture, you see. There’s a whole different ecosystem down there where the Rio Pueblo flows. Insects, bugs. It must have flown up from the gorge.
The bird stayed put as I walked by. It’s good to know there is a jungle somewhere, I thought. The desert seemed less limiting, and there was space between my fears.