Dear reader, I saw such beauty on the trail today.
Sometimes I go for a run and tell myself: I will not stop for any reason.
But you wouldn't believe the distractions out there!
I'm captivated by the nuances in season which come as a fine, acquired taste for those who dwell in the desert. The sommelier who, with a single sniff, can pinpoint the exact location of the grapes used to make his glass of wine, the acidity of the soil, the wood of the barrel, the musk of the farmer, has nothing on my ability to distinguish one day from the next, to close my eyes and breathe in this subtle cycle of change.
I am, for example, keenly aware of the difference between the sun's intention to merely melt off my face as opposed to spontaneously combusting me seconds upon leaving the house.
Like I said: subtle.
But today I saw such glorious things--young darkling beetles, tottering through the dust, tiny lizards darting under rocks, and nests of freshly hatched caterpillars, inching toward their design. All things buzzing and humming with the delirious joy of being alive. I saw blue skies, so deep and clear it made my heart ache, water in the creek, darling, deadly cactuses, and evidence of the ancient Norseman!
I can't help but believe a timeless, poetic wanderer exists out in the desert, putting into expression the deepest feelings of his soul. How could it be a mere hiker, leaving markers on the trail? No, this must be something deeper and far more essential.
This must be a manifestation of what moves us all, inching toward our design: that vast and endless longing for love.