Desert Celebration

The Old Days

They’re gone now, the old days,
And they will never return,
Like water down the river
And wind through the fern.

Everything comes back sometime,
Except ourselves alone,
And the times that were happy
And the friends that we’ve known.

So the days go onward
And the glory fails,
There’s nothing much left now
Except my tales,

Just what I remember,
I and the wind,
Stronger now, and sharper,
Since the woods are thinned.

~Louis Morgan

Who Loves The Rain

Who loves the rain
And loves his home,
And looks on life with quiet eyes,
Him will I follow through the storm;
And at his hearth-fire keep me warm;
Nor hell nor heaven shall that soul surprise,
Who loves the rain,
And loves his home,
And looks on life with quiet eyes.

~Frances Shaw

Ain't That Somethin'

On Wednesday of this week, at two minutes and three seconds after 1:00 in the morning, the time and date will be 01:02:03 04/05/06.

That won't ever happen again.

One Hundred and Twenty-two Days

Cold gray day, holding no promise of rain.
Pale brown soil stirs as I walk, dusty leaves
Crunch under my feet. I pull my jacket closer.
Desert trees in late winter, stark and dark-barked
Against the milky sky.
So many dry days now, a record, leaving everything thirsty
waiting for rain that doesn't come.
Around the next bend, cacti blooms fuchsia, some red;
another yellow, another orange. They need no water.
This year there will be no wildflowers.

An Old Dreamer

Old age brings shallow dreams,
just under the surface of wakefulness.
Not quite reality, but neither
the vivid, passionate, shuddering
dreams of youth.
Sometimes I lie there in that
not quite wakeful state,
aware of aches and itches,
unable to move from tiredness
and the monotony of mild
and colorless dreams.
I long for even the
terror of a nightmare
to warm my body and blood
once again.
~Aiyana