Desert dreams

Three workshops down, one to go. And in the space between, a sojourn in the Arizona desert.

It's 41-45 degrees here, heat like a fist, old man saguaro cacti majestically guarding the crags and valleys. This grandmother kindly donated a rare low fruit... Fat and delicious and shocking pink, yum.

I like this desert; light splashing my eyes, volcanic rock speaking of an ancient furnace that melted the land. This is an environment you cannot wish away, even if you wanted to. The heat crawls up my feet, seeps under doors, blisters paint. Locals hop from shade to shade. Hummingbirds dart like feathered moths. Hawks scour the land for scuttling things.

I like this desert; horizons of jagged rock and searing blue. Untameable. Disobedient. Pulsing. Breathless. The plants have spines and thorns and spikes. I must be careful where I place my feet. This place demands awareness; be awake, now, or I will hurt you.
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I am awake, and the desert opens its hot heart and welcomes me with fiery breath.
I love this desert.

​Gina Chick

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