This week, I’m saying goodbye to Tucson for a while. I will only be back to commune, to visit the cats, and that probably not until October. My property-mate, Jay, is on the case. They love him, but I know that they will miss me. I know I will miss them. The cats, the lizards, the trees, the pool, the sky… if I could be everywhere at once, in everyone’s arms, under every beloved sky, well. Now THAT would be living.
But it’s not how it works.
I am admiring Orangelina, and her beautiful children, and telling her I love her. And feeding the whiptails worms too, and giving the birds seed. There are baby quail, baby cardinals, babies everywhere.
Last night, the cats (I presume it was the cats…) killed a giant rat; it was as big as the sun, and they left it by the pool for me to admire. I was floored. I never see such creatures unless they are presented to me as corpses, by a hunter.
It’s been very hot, but I have been watering the vines. All of the water from my kitchen goes to the honeysuckle.
The sun is up early, and hugely bright.
The days are hot, and dry. But the rains are supposed to start tomorrow.
Time seems very open and soft to me today.
I’d best keep moving.
This week, under Movers & Shakers, I look forward to communing with Hal Levison, planetary science, Oliver Thompson, English guitarist, and Bill Hartmann, my very own Lawrence of Arabia, and planning collaborations both practical and ethereal with them and others.
The fruit is calling from the tree.