Spike’s got his energy and can-do spirit back.
He barks and hops and fake-growls at me until I grab the black suits and leashes. “Spike! We already went on a long hike this morning!” He insists. I guess he wants to catch up on what he missed on his sick day. Bridget and I follow Spike’s lead. He takes off like we’re on an expedition, holding his nose high and trotting along with great confidence and purpose.
The three of us explore the rocks, ridges and ravines.
Itty-bitty flowers of purple, yellow, and white look like miniature replicas of full-size flowers sold in garden shops. It’s a time like this that I wish my camera had a more powerful lens.
I step carefully to avoid crushing the flowers. I notice Bridget’s habit of stepping daintily serves her well in the rocky desert.
Blades of grass are sprouting all over. Grass? In the desert? I never would have thought I’d see so much grass.
Stopping to rest, I’m reminded of childhood days of long ago.
Usually I fantasized I was an explorer or pioneer, living by my wits, reading animal tracks, fording streams, looking for signs of hostile Indians, (I read Last of the Mohicans several times.), recording new plants, and so on. I remember building a hut out of pine boughs, packing the walls with the damp sod of the woods.
For hours I sat inside peering out, not making a sound, waiting for a close-up look at wildlife.
Of course, the landscape here in the Sonoran Desert is entirely different from the verdant valley in which I grew up. The anticipation of discoveries is the same.
I loved it then and I love it now.
How peaceful to be standing in the desert with no one in sight, no evidence of human presence! What a gorgeous day!
“This was a good idea, Spikey!”
Some days I think about moving on, and then I change my mind.
Why move just for the sake of moving? It’s warm and sunny here. The crew and I aren’t done exploring the land around our camp.
I enjoy the gentle rhythm of each day, whether it’s washing the Casita or hanging out laundry or cooking with the door open wide behind me. Every evening I watch a new sunset.
Shall I make a campfire, watch television, read a book, go online?
When the weather improves elsewhere, I’ll go looking for elsewhere. For now I’ll keep enjoying now, here.