Green Oasis

Ah, the sweet irony of reading Moby-Dick safe in the landlocked Mojave with nary a cetacean in sight.

A sunny moment.
I am happy to share it,
If it pleases you.

My daughter nestled into the crook of my shoulder and we gazed up at the soft blueness of lastlight. I had just removed some cat manure from the lawn. I looked over at her hive ridden body. A cool breeze hinted at the coming autumn.

She reached up, caressed a branch of our small pomegranate tree with its solitary blossom, and said “Everything’s perfect. It’s right where it’s supposed to be.” I smiled to hear such poetry come out of a little girl’s mouth, and for a moment I believed her.

We went back to spotting gape-mouthed crocodiles with castles for party hats as they floated by above us.

I noticed the faces of the people I encountered on my walk across campus this morning. I enjoyed their variety and pondered on how many different kinds of people are needed to make our human society work. I usually hurry on my way into the office, heedless of other people, lost in my thoughts. This morning, my only thoughts were about those people. Wordlessly I thanked them for their contributions to my life.

Then I noticed a bush with brilliant red and orange flowers raising an ecstatic clarion call, celebrating its own life, and calling others to join the party. I had never noticed this bush before. It was tucked away in the corner of a building where few would probably notice it. I silently congratulated the bush for being happy even if no one came to its party.

I am Atlas: my feet in the heavens, the weight of my backyard lawn on my shoulders, watching the last of the sunset ebb from the clouds between my feet. The buzz of summer insects fills my ears. Loamy moisture fills my nostrils. My little mimic does her best sālamba sarvāngāsāna.