Poems and Proverbs of the Crazy

My Home

It's an interesting thing here in the desert. The ground burns beneath your feet, the plants are hostile and armed with thorns. The sun bears down on you from above with what seems like hate, and the landscape itself is bleak and dry. And yet, every year around spring, something miraculous happens. Where I live, the grass becomes soft and cool instead of dry and prickly. The plants grow flowers, of a multitude of colors. The ocotillo blooms countless orange flowers the look like the tips of paint brushed. The Saguaro blooms heavenly white blossoms, and still others grow dazzling purple, and red. Yellow and pink, and so do the trees. Trees with prickly thorns and dull colors suddenly grow flowers so yellow and numerous, it makes the trees seem almost fluffy. And in their weighed down branches buzz the bees and fly the butterflies, their color nearly matching the array of flowers. Upon the ground the jackrabbits frolic and the geckos sunbathe upon rocks now made beautiful by the new flowers. The beauty here in the desert makes me wonder why I would ever want to leave. The heat doesn't bother me, and nor do the monsoons. Why leave my beautiful desert home that blossoms once a year for a place where flowers grow everyday? Is not the rare beauty lost in their abundance? So whether I leave my home for some far off place, or stay and bask in its annual glory, I will forever love this place, this place I call home.