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?"