I went to throw myself into the desert sea;
to find isolation and solitude between the swells of the earth
and shifting light.
Day to night, and night, and night as it echoes beyond the evening,
the storm calmed.
At critical mass, the moon then shifted the tide . . .
and the understructure,
the secret work in preparation for the next day had begun.
Quite a pretty bird, one I had probably seen before, but never really paid attention to. These were in the Saline Valley, one of the most remote and difficult-to-access locations in Death Valley National Park. These birds stand out to me now because someone I talked to said that these birds wandered in during a wet spring and never left; that it was too far to the next body of water that was livable for them, and ultimately, they just began to live here throughout the year. I know better now, however, there is no sense in throwing a good story like that away.
Playas, dry lakes, they hypnotize me. Flat and dry and scarred but still pure. Hardened earth and soft skies. An elegant monotony that locks in on whatever lobe in my brain it is that controls my fascination for seeking a niche, an edge, a flaw as my eye draws up to, in this specific case, a dark and slivered horizon. Few words. Clear and open thought. Appreciation. I clap my hands. The sound dissipates and the ever so slight vibrations go on endlessly.
There are many different varieties of barrel cactus, but a couple of things pretty much hold true with all of them. First, the taller ones tend to point toward the south. This is due to the fact that for most of the year the sun is more toward the south. Second, it is not a good idea to drink the juice from the cactus when out of water. A couple of reasons for that; one, these cacti are tough, and the perspiration expended to open one of these up would exceed the available water within. Secondly, the liquid will most likely cause a horrible case of diarrhea, further depleting the body of water and accelerating dehydration.