In the desert.

I hear all the things the city blocked outs

Thoughts that have been shouting but muted from the rush of go, be seen and be heard.

Feelings that play small in large crowds,

stretch their arms and breath amongst the branches of the Palo verde.

I can Breathe in, the pitch black nights, nebulas and galaxies.

I Breathe out, exhaling bright oranges and pale pinks of western sunsets.

Prickly cactus emotion repressed for seasons irritate the skin and break through.

Open wounds scabbing over quickly in the dry air.

There’s no respite from the bright sun.

Burning your body if you don’t properly prepare.

Be prepared.

It’s a different beauty.

Muted and natural.

Its Strength swift and slow at the same time,

allowing time to be real and raw and honest.

A chance to be like the saguaro although weathered, still standing, still tall.

A chance to be a bloom after an infrequent rain.

A chance to be like a Phoenix from the desert floor.

A chance to rise again, in the desert.