Pinion

Bushels of planted mint, placed in rock gardens, gently tug at the acrid desert pinion. Memories of scent are given to the unwary, delivering unsuspecting glimpses of future dreams, of hopes not yet delivered.

Turquoise embedded stones,

Shards of broken pottery,

Long forgotten souls.

An ancient arroyo, horned toads, a grave for a beloved pet, a pet of others, revered by a child. The mystique of a land that seems barren, yet sight breathes vibrant life, enduring love, life and joy.

A plaza, an office,

A child, his grandfather,

A sadness broken.

Blood seeps through cracked soil, crimson tendrils spiral deep into the land, bonding the living and the earth. Laughter and tears, fear, beauty, moments faded, briefly remembered, and then gone forever.

Ashes and dust,

A name on a rock,

The sadness of loss.

This ancient land whispers through my being, his gentle acceptance, his reverence, his beauty. Time and distance weighs heavy, desperate yearning for the caring touch of a loving hand, the scent of pinion.

Home.