L'aura del Campo

Desert dance

Desert dance

One could fry one's feet in San Luís,
dancing the dark dunes at noon.
One's presence noted in graceful tracks
laminated by thrice-a-year rain.

Pressed into sandstones there they will rest
until the millenia pass
when some curious creature records their notes,
echoed 'cross sands of time:

Songs of longing, arpeggios,
that rolled up the windward slopes
to rest after a final adagio
as they fell from the silica crest.

One could fry one's feet in San Luís:
better to wear sturdy shoes.

© Kåre Enga [164.91] 07-05-24

The San Luís Valley includes Alamoza, Colorado.

IMAGES:

Cloud sponge, ringing itself out above me; fragrance from a wet yellow rose = wet nose = the taste of droplets on petals; golden coreopsis mixed with purple clover; a vine twining up last year's yucca stalk, this year's stalk 5 foot high; yucca in bloom; a lawn of straw; purple haze of the smoke bush about to bloom; a red-headed flicker.

AFTERNOON THOUGHTS:

It is green and cool and an invitation to allow thoughts wander off to other times and places where it was green and cool and just as seemingly safe.

There are days when I try not to think too much. It hurts the happiness.

Slowly, slowly, the outer limbs cool down, are left to freeze, fall off. Till only the core remains to renew this dance with Death.

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