desert morning

It’s morning in the desert. The silence, even in our little housing development, is overwhelming. Heaven and earth seem very close to one another and Man is like dust on the balance. The mountains are steel gray underneath the huge vault of our blue sky and the sun is dazzling. Shadows are long behind the sagebrush and rabbit bushes; every stem is highlighted by the bright sun on one side and the deep shade on the other. And the quiet, the quiet is like a fluffy comforter over everything.

There is a cool breeze coming in the window. It must be blowing all the way from the mountains, maybe even the Pacific, carrying the fragrance of pine and sage and juniper. It has moist underscents this morning that make me think there must have been a sprinkle of rain somewhere this morning. The desert sand and plants have a light but distinctive fragrance when a bit of moisture falls on it. If we could bottle it I’d keep it with me for memory’s sake when I go back east.

I watched two meadowlarks playing in the wind earlier. One settled on a fence post and the other soared up until I lost it in the blue of the sky. To me, the name ‘meadowlark” implies green pastures with bubbling brooks running through them. Why is it then that I’ve seen more meadowlarks here in the desert than I ever saw in Ohio? They love to sit on fence posts here and on the tips of the sagebrush and sing. When a meadowlark sings, he throws his head back and opens his beak and sings to the heavens. His pleasure in the song is evident in every part of him.

It will soon be time for the sound of the mocking bird that sings in the tree by our kitchen window. He regularly tries to prove there are at least three different species of birds living in the same tree at the same time. I’ve only glimpsed him once, but he makes himself very evident every day. I’m still waiting for our resident road runner to put in an appearance. He makes his circuit around the house every morning around nine o’clock. That’s one thing I like about living here in the Belen area; we have road runners. Rock Springs is too high in elevation for them and I only saw one the entire 10+ years I lived there. They are such sassy, presumptuous birds, thinking they can match anything on two or four legs and claiming every foot of land their long legs can cover. I like ‘em.

Some piece of heavy equipment just started up down the hill closer to the road. Seth just woke up and clicked on cartoons. Kerra came in and started a cycle on the dishwasher. All normal Saturday activities. I’m glad I found the quietness first.