The Season is Changing

I thought I’d write about sea gulls because
I had nothing to say. But I know nothing
about sea gulls. How about the wind?

So, I looked out my window. The branches
were blowing back and forth in the cooling
desert air. Like me. I speak; no one hears.

I need the wind to whisper or the trees to
talk back! Tell me something. The only
thing I hear is the faint faraway sound

of a jet flying overhead from here to
somewhere but not where I can see. Does
it matter if I tell you that I did coffee and

I’ve done tea? Got up for a glass of water
which is very unlike me. I can’t shake it
off; reality won’t vanish, won’t go away.

My mind is pacing the floor while I sit still.
Isn’t it true? You are willing to wait until
you have to, until waiting becomes a test

that wasn’t your idea. I have to accept what
I don’t know. I look out again. The wind is
still blowing. Is it really speaking to me?

How easy to be a tree! Its trust is well rooted.
(Not really trying to be funny; I’m serious
as I can be.) Do trees ask the wind where it

came from or why me? I think the wind
gave me a hint of what I couldn’t see—that
the season is changing for the trees and me.


New Desert Song

We loved it there before the wind
changed and the air got stale.
Is our future in the sounds of the
desert instead of the noise of the

Will the plastic owl hold off the
woodpecker I hear on a neighbor’s

Our time had come. The autumns
we loved lost their luster. The land
became bleak. The vibrant colors of
our lives were drained and worn to

We were rejected and scorned there.
Now those who hurt us are rejected
and scorned, but they wouldn’t take
notice of it.

The desert sun warms us; there is
laughter in every gentle breeze. And
there are tears with every occasional

You sing, “I see the mountains and the
mountains see me,” on every outing.

We don’t tire of looking at the
mountains and the mountains looking
back at us. Or watching the birds and
bunnies darting in and out.

It is our new desert song.