The Desert Opera

We are familiar with the desert colors:
the white and gray; the yellow and red.
And all the many browns. And the dazzling
cerulean blue of the sky. The far horizons
beckon and the muscle and bone of the land
runs beneath our feet and up the walls of
canyons and nearby peaks. All is revealed
by shades and hues of sienna and umber and
ochre — of vermillion and brick and rust.
The colors change with sun and shadow.

The mountains glow at sunset from granites and feldspar.
We know and embrace these desert colors.

Then comes summer and the monsoon rains.
We are always startled as the land is transformed
into a dozen shades of green.

The late summer wildflowers burst into
performance with the greatest show on
earth. Goldenbush and yellow Chamisa take
a bow, drawing our attention.

The pale pink Evening Primrose makes an encore
while Delft Blue Asters make their much-anticipated entrance.

The shy Dune Dalea shows off her deepest Prussian
Blue starlets. The Apache Plume dances into view with
its ballerinas wavering in the summer breeze.

The once swooning Mallow makes
a dramatic orange recovery just as the choir
of Sunflowers and Ragwort and Tickseed begin
an oratorio of yellow light.

The villainous Belladonna, Nightshade dressed
in her finest skirts of blue and white watches
seductively from the shadows.

This drama is accompanied by the towering monsoon
thunderheads and the distant kettledrum of
thunder and a spark of lightning on the horizon.
Autumn stands in the wings.  Benissimo! Brava! Brava!

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The Home Place — 2022

Mid-Summer 2022

Sun – Dust – Winds – Drought
La sequía, some might call it.
The desert cries dry and silent tears.
Las lágrimas silenciosa – Was there ever
a more enduring, stoic place?

The monsoon answers with welcome rain.
The clouds piled high in the distance
move slowly across the horizon.
Lightning flashes. Thunder rumbles.
El chaparrón, a cloudburst.

The early dawning light reveals
the ponds and gullies left
from last night’s flood.
El diluvio. El torrente.

Los arroyos pour out their burden
unseen except by the night dwellers
leaving tracks in the wet sand.
Las huellas nocturnas.

Our bone-dry streams are like empty veins on a
weary hand. Like those before us, we thank heaven for
the rain; a long-standing spiritual blessing each year.
Gracias al cielo por la Lluvia, una bendición.

Seasons follow along, moon after moon.
Can you smell the roasting chiles?
The Perseids mark the night.
A birthday marks the start of a new year.
¡Feliz cumpleaños señor!
San Lorenzo’s matachines mark the day.
Los días de los santos y las estrellas fugaces.

The rain ends, the green visits us a while. Not
long. The desert’s dry nature returns. The fall will
bring golden cottonwoods and turquoise skies.
Los colores del otoño.

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The Home Place — 2022