are in order when you’re sprung from your Covid cell, told you’ve tested negative and are free to storm the world again.
I walked in the miraculous Arizona desert landscape, among plants that are ancient yet fresh, survivors on only a few drops of rainfall a year.
The oft-quoted lines from a Mary Oliver poem seemed relevant, as sentimental as they sometimes seem: “what is it you plan to do/With your one wild and precious life?” Well, I thought about it as I walked.
What in fact do I want to do?
Pacing the perimeter of my parents’ development, I thought I might want to take some inspiration.
To kiss and to hug. That’s something that you think of first when you’ve been told not to come up close to anybody, even wearing a mask.
The city of Scottsdale actually goes out and dribbles water on individual plants. That’s responsible.
Allow my book to germinate.
Toughen my hide.
Pay attention to what’s above.
If I can do any of these things with a microcosmic bit of the spirit of the sage inhabitants of the desert, it will be awesome.