On a stage,
backlit in purples,
pink, and orange
my mulberry writhes
to windchime chords.
Flitting sparrows dance
the bit parts.
Spring does not tiptoe
into the desert. Fresh growth
bounds in on clouds of green;
mint-shade leaves on Cottonwoods,
spiked jade-green grasses
come, carpet once-dusty riverwalks
Puffs of yellow flowers
brighten dull green creosote.
They scrub out toward the mountains
Courting quail couples
promenade down dry washes
and eagles construct aeries
along the Verde riverbanks.
Coyotes rush canine candidates
for full pack-membership
with yips and yowls when Moon
bounces across night skies.
My heart skips, my feet dance
into the awakening of my life, fresh
flowers appear in my garden. I celebrate
the wonderment of new Creation
blown in on spring’s crisp breezes.
Meet Don Jones. He wandered into Jerome High School with a load of manzanita to sell ten days ago. Said he needed money to help his girlfriend with cancer. Needed it for her doctors’ bills. I admired the wood, but explained it was way too big for what I did. I led him over to my gallery and showed him my art, He grabbed an enchanted wand for his windshield,and hung a few feathers on it.
That day I labelled him an angel, and have hung on for the blessings. The treasures he has bought up to me! Gorgeous roots, rocks with gold speckles, antlers, ten-foot tall agave, trash from early settlers. Yesterday we spent the day driving to Cherry and to Crown KIng to see the sights and find areas where we might find more materials.
Don has ideas. We can for use rusty barbed wired for chains on wall hangings. Metal bands and bed springs will be sculpture bases. It seems I will continue with my art. Don wants to construct larger more utilitarian pieces, benches, stools, lockboxes. We will definitely have fabulous wood to work with. And tremendous creativity between us. Adrift will never be the same!
Come be to meet Don, and his lovely rescue cattle dog, Eva. A good storyteller, he will entertain you forever. He specializes in taking orders, going out into the desert to find whatever you asked for.
(There is no girlfriend. He wanted to help a virtual stranger. His heart is big like that!)
I have always believed in the possibility of angels. I remember all the times solutions to problems I might not even realize I had. Finding my perfect house in Clarkdale. Meeting my precious mini-doxie Baruch at the pound. There had t be some sort of divinity to pull those off. Friends. People who step in just when I need them, maybe stay around, maybe move on.
This weekend I met an angel who blew in off the desert. I was talking to my friend Ashe in the Jerome High School studios. A man came to the door. “Do you know anyone who would like to buy my wood?”
Ashe pointed to me. “Has to be her.”
I trailed after this man, six feet tall, scraggy beard, long stringy gray hair, stained jeans, a few teeth broken, missing. His rusty pickup truck was parked outside, a nondescript large white dog sat in the cab. A cherry-red ATV, tarps, a shovel, and a camp stove were strewn across the bed, and tied over these were three huge red-barked manzanita trees.
"With all the beauty surrounding me here above the Verde Valley, how could I not create more beauty?"