Plants have names.

Even those plants most people would walk right by and have no idea what to call them. In the desert, maybe, especially.

It helps if you’re lucky enough to be with someone who knows most of the names.

Like my brother. He seems to be acquainted with everything we pass this morning on this quiet little trail in Sedona.

Of course he knows the juniper.

The prickly pear.

Manzanita.

And the pinyon pine.

But also the things most hikers don’t know. Crucifixion thorn.

Banana yucca.

Saltbush.

Nightshade.

Catclaw. If you pull it this way, it’s sharp, he says. They make honey out of it.

Of course there are a few species even he does not know. Wright’s silk tassel, for example. Or sixweek’s three-awn.

Or wait-a-minute. Its minute seemingly past.

I think those sound like Medieval ones, titled long ago.

When you can walk around and name natural aspects of the world around you, it gives you a feeling of satisfaction. Even elation.

Elated is how I feel on this little trail today in sight of some of the biggest mountains around.

These rock formations so dramatic under the lowering storm clouds, especially fronted by beautiful wreckage.

Not, perhaps, as subtle as wait-a-minute. But both are arresting.

Mysteries do occur also on this trail, things we cannot name. Gorgeous, syrupy, silvery sap.

A very humble stone, its bald head poking up amid the shrubbery.

A rock embedded in the red sand.

A metal structure whose use is lost to time.

A puddle. The simple wetness of a pool. So unusual in the high desert.

As is a drum. Why is it here?

Just to make a sound.