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Desert Romance
Their relationship began and ended in the rocks.
They met while after individually sun-bathing nude in the rocks; each enjoying the private
solitude of rocky shelters, but each attracted to the same boulder pile. They enjoyed the freedom and relaxation of basking in the sun, while attaining the perfect tan without tan-lines. They both
desired the perfect bronze acquired only by lying in pockets of soft sand, wearing only your skin. They were both discrete.
When they met, fully clothed, near their favorite rocks, they confessed to each other their
secret activity, which immediately bonded them in physical attraction. They returned many times to their beloved rocks and soft pockets of sand. They shared laughter and love, desiring only each other.
It was sweet and warm while it lasted. Eventually, their temperaments became hard and sharp. The tone acquired a rocky edge. The smiles eroded and crumbled under tears of pain. Sunny relaxation was
replaced with cold harsh, winds of disappointment, lies and finally deceit.
Split rock became inevitable as their love thrived only at sunrise and sunset.
Looking for fall
She always finds it to be a little depressing when fall arrives on the calendar, because in the California
desert, the air feels more like spring outside. The trees and landscape look like spring, too. Flowers are blooming on the eastern slope of mountains and replace the moldy mounds of brown damp leaves
that she anticipates to be there. There are no leaves in these desert trees. Needles or spines cover everything in the plant kingdom. Cottonwoods are the exception.
By early to mid- November, a cheerful yellow color will dominate the wet swampy oasis where old granddaddy Cottonwood trees bend over the trail with their knarly, arm-like branches. Cottonwoods reside in the lush pockets and streambeds where she will wander on the weekends, in search of a place to enjoy a favorite childhood ritual…crunching leaves beneath her boots and breathing deeply of musty air.
How she always loved spring in her youth! Gone are the daffodils in her mother’s yard
where childhood was marked by seasons. Here the seasons are all mixed up. She has to stop and think to herself, now what time of the year is it? Nature has a different rhythm in the desert compared to
the green hills of childhood.
As she sits on her porch on a warm day in October, listening to birds sing out from their
spiky perches of Joshua Trees, she is delighted to find fall on her front porch. A coyote strides through the yard. She catches a slight hint of creosote on the breeze.
Her memories were germinated and stored under tall leafy oaks, but childhood feelings are revived by surprises yielded by the desert.
Cindy VonHalle
Cindy has lived in the high desert of California since 1996.
One of her earliest childhood memories is learning how to spell the word imagination.
She loves making up stories and capturing images of nature. She hopes to inspire others to see
small details that make the desert a joyful and valuable place.
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