Outside In Arizona No. 2
Outside in Arizona, three women walked. Two swung long, flowing garments
about their ankles as they ambled. One, dressed for heat, moved slowest,
in shorts, apparently enjoying this simple freedom.
They walked where no house stood, they
walked where cactus and scrub oak
ruled a quiescent populace of browns and yellows and dusty greens.
As they hiked, the rocks drew their
attention, colored earth gifts in
narrow stream beds, and they selected, as though they were fine china,
the "just right" pieces to remember, "enrich" and
to glorify a garden.
They talked, and marched, and played
giggly girls occasionally, and met a
fence to climb through or over, or under. They climbed hillsides and
greeted the horse and deer energies they met on the way.
They sat, finally, or perched, or squatted,
at a sandy-bottomed, dry
streambed, high-sided and cool. The quiet surrounded them and for long
summer moments each was alone. Finally, dusky shadows seeped into the
sand and sunset's gold clamored at them to return.
Three women gave thanks for the rocks,
trees, silence, sun and each
other. One, staring through dome-shaped clouds, talked silently to white
robed star travelers.
Then, dirty-handed, sandy-footed women
made their way, in rythms of peace
and speechless joy, home.