She whispered November, though each step spoke September. No grey to brighten. No chill to thaw. Only cerulean skies. Proud pomegranates. Lonely lizards. Fading roses. Towering eucalyptus trees. Swaying suspension bridges.
In her Arizona embrace, we stood by banks of dusty monsoon memories. We crossed dry creek beds flowing with tears. We shielded our eyes from the sun. We moved ahead on our path. We listened to the language of lingering leaves.
2 thoughts on “On Our Path”
So envious of your winter warmth. I know your response will be: “Give August a try.”
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you’re right about August. October, November and December may be our best months here. We have the warmth, but not all the snowbirds of January, February and March.