Ode to Tucson

Home for two weeks to the Beloved Desert!

Home to the blooming paloverde sashaying in the breeze.

Home to the red-tipped ocotillo, the lemon-yellow blooms of the prickly pear, and the pencil cholla’s bold purple blossoms.

Home

-       To a new family of quail, late for this time of year.

-       To the desert moon full over Safford Peak, then drifting on past it, out of sight, when I awake at three a.m.

-       To the coyotes calling as the sun comes up, and to every single bird within 100 miles joining them.

-       To dry heat, and warm dryness, and cool breezy mornings.

-       To crickets, black ants, wasps at their egg-laying, gnats biting flies, and millions of bees in the paloverdes.

-       To the prairie dog snacking near the porch.

-       To the antelope squirrel spread-eagle on its belly in a shady corner.

-       To the roadrunners who come forward, strident, head first, in their bustle for water, and in their bustle to retreat.

-       To the call of quail, the buzz of bees, the drill of the woodpecker, the dove’s “who-cooks-for-you?”

Home, home, truly home—witness to all I’ve seen before, know fairly well, yet see again for the first time.

-       The regal stance of the male quail.

-       Cottontails in surplus.

-       Evidence of a pack rat.

-       The brown-headed cowbird.

-       A towhee feeding its young.

-       Cactus wren, curved-bill thrashers, mourning doves, white-winged doves, and the veritable pair of Inca doves.

-       A lizard! So fast I barely saw it.

-       The conservative creosote bush with its pearl-button blooms.

-       The Peak—and the Two Women climbing up either side—still climbing—undaunted, forever, without rest.

-       The mighty Jackrabbit.

-       The ruling Harris hawk.

-       Mr. and Mrs. Pyrrhuloxia.

-       The incomparable Gilded Flicker.

-       The smell of earth and sky and creosote and the juices of every living thing.

-       May air, in wafts.

-       Distant mountains—massive, definitive.

-       The call of the far-off train.

-       Flycatchers and gnatcatchers and red, red finches.

-       And the sparrow, always the sparrow—God’s little mascot.

Home, and in love with home, with desert, with white clouds, and wind, and a star or two before dark.

Home, and in love with all creatures, all things, sentient or not—

-       With the koi and the goldfish in the pond.

-       And the minnows that eat mosquitoes.

-       And the mesquite thorns that scratch my arms as I prune.

-       And the sticker in the side of my bare foot.

-       And the dryness of nose and lips and skin.

-       And the miracle of water to drink.

-       And the bushy-tailed squirrel that looks in the sliding-glass window.

-       And the hummingbird at the aloe flowers.

-       And the Gila woodpecker inside the saguaro.

-       And the rattler on the drive.

-       And the baby bunnies eating seed with the birds.

-       And everyone drinking heartily from the water dish set forth.

-       And the funnel spider well-set on the woodpile.

-       And every rock in place, and every rock that isn’t.

-       And the brittlebush, its blooms now drying.

-       And nests in the cholla.

-       And seeds, random on the wind.

This is home.

Their home.

And I get to share it:

Barrel cactus, purple Santa Ritas,

Rich green mesquite.

Pods waving from the cassia.

Hesperaloe sends up a new bloom.

I move rocks from here to here,

From there over to there.

Oleander in full bloom—

The agave much bigger than me!

Dried blossoms skit across the porch.

The paloverde rubs against the carport.

And the penstemon are all dying back

After a Spring showing in great number.

Even the bougainvillea coughed up some blooms.

And thrashers thrashed the dried chilis

Hanging by the blue door.

All’s well with the Golden Barrel.

The sun now moves towards Yuma.

Wind spins the Earth into

A cooler day.

Shade spills over the dirt yard

As creatures come to feed.

Birds come for more seed.

The water dish is filled.

--written in Tucson, on Cinco de Mayo, 1993