Adjusting to life's changes with hope… through poetry, haiku, and commentary

I Might as Well Be on Mars


Desert blooms are alien to me,
strange shapes protruding from
other unusual shapes surrounded
by stranger forms in an exotic
design. It makes me think.

I might as well be on Mars.

Your observation is correct, in
that I am no gardener. Part
city boy, part suburbanite; to
me, any farm is a foreign land.

I love the desert heat as it
envelops me. As I hike the hills,
the heavens hug and embrace
me with my Father’s kiss.

In this heat, the air is still.
Out of nothing, there is a swirl
of dust, a rush of air; in a
moment the breeze greets you,
pushes you, and runs around
you. The wind disappears as
quickly as it had come.

I let go of the brim of my hat
and opened my eyes slowly
because I can feel the grit, the
slap of sand that came and went.

I crest the hill and stop to look at
the ridge line ahead. I reach for
my canteen and take my three
swallows before moving on.

I may not know one desert plant
from another, but as I continue
along the ridge with visibility
south and east that seems to go
on forever, the view reminds me.

There is a master gardener. And
it isn’t me; it isn’t you. The wind
kicks up another swirl of air,
sand, and dust.

I feel another embrace.
Another kiss to remind me of
His unceasing love for me.

I might as well be on Mars.

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