And nights of our lives angling for the next fish.
We rush from place to place, moment to moment,
Often derailed and distracted by constant noise,
Often unfulfilled as the day’s last light descends.
Maybe, to catch the one we dream of catching,
It’s best to pause in silence at the water’s edge,
To give thanks for what passes before us,
To be still beside the simple silhouette cast.
At dusk, on Sunday, October 4, 2026, I captured this silhouette of a boy waiting patiently for his next fish along the Crosscut Canal in Scottsdale, Arizona.
If you enjoyed reading my poem, check out my book of poetry, A Path I Might Have Missed. It (and all six of my books) are available on Amazon.
Two days of much-needed rain, remnants of hurricane Polo, have scrubbed our Sonoran skies and revealed–on the last day of September–sunny-and-mild, early autumn.
This is our desert version of fall, which would be characterized as summer anywhere else. Comfortable mornings. Perfect for hiking and plenty warm to swim outside. I did both before noon.
With every stroke back and forth at Eldorado Pool in south Scottsdale, between 10:00 and 11:00 a.m. I found myself Septembering … a word I’ve crafted to represent six sweet September 2026 moments I choose to remember here.
***
On September 4, my parents would have celebrated their seventy-eighth anniversary. A friend and ex-colleague touched me by colorizing and retouching their wedding photo. Such a pleasant surprise!
On September 6, Tom and I celebrated our twelfth anniversary by treating ourselves to a fabulous matinee performance of Les Miserables at the Phoenix Theatre.
On September 17, my husband kicked off his eighth Movies That Matter film series at the Scottsdale Public Library. Since launching it in January 2023, his popular program has attracted cinephiles who crave absorbing the meaning of fabulous films and Tom’s fascinating insights in a fun-and-engaging community setting.
On September 25 (9/25 day for Dolly Parton lovers who grieve), I was one of ten members of the Phoenix Gay Men’s Chorus who sang back-up to Mamma Coal (host performer shown below) for a rendition of “I Will Always Love You” at a Celebration of Dolly at the Van Buren concert venue in Phoenix. A portion of the proceeds benefitted Dolly’s Imagination Library.
On September 26, my sister Diane celebrated her seventy-second birthday in the Chicago area. I remember how we teamed up beautifully during the last four years of our mother’s life (2009-2013) to care for her. For Diane’s special day, Tom and I bought her a gorgeous blue-green scarf, which she loves, in Vancouver’s Stanley Park during our Canada visit in late July.
On September 30, Tom and I enjoyed cooler temperatures and hiked along the Crosscut Canal near Papago Park in south Scottsdale. Though we’ve lived in the Sonoran Desert of Arizona for more than nine years, at times I still feel I am walking on the moon whenever I witness the stark beauty of the buttes and saguaros.
PS: Supporting photos below appear in no particular order. For good measure, I’ve also included a September 2026 photo Tom took of me (not one of my sister; she prefers her privacy).
May is a transitional month in the Valley of the Sun.
Snowbirds have flown away to their full-time nests east and north. Tom and I are left to our creative devices.
Despite the higher temperatures coming soon–100-plus next week–I prefer these quieter, hotter days.
There is more room in our favorite coffee shop where we write and socialize. Less maneuvering through traffic merging on and off highway ramps framed by jagged mountains that remind me I am a westerner now … for nearly nine years.
This morning at the Scottsdale Community College gym Tom and I now frequent (free with our Silver Sneakers membership), Rosalind greeted me with a broad smile.
She read and loved Sixty-Something Days, my latest book and told me she is recommending it to all of her sixty-something friends.
Active-retiree Rosalind laughed when she said, “I’m your target audience.” She offered that it reminded her how important it is for all of us to be grateful for the goodness and love in our lives.
In that moment, she shared a photo of her two, beautiful, three-year-old granddaughters who are the children of her twin adult sons.
As we parted to continue our respective exercise regimens, she volunteered that she will be leaving for Flagstaff for the summer–her own transition to the beauty and cooler temps of northern Arizona–but back in the fall to resume her desert life.
Now that May has arrived, I’m shifting creative gears.
I’ve been working with another chorus member–August–to write and finalize the libretto for Broadway Lights, the next Phoenix Gay Men’s Chorus (PHXGMC) concert June 27 and 28 at Tempe Center for the Arts.
It features eight storytelling vignettes that wrap in and around our PHXGMC set of inspiring, fun/funny, and fabulous Broadway tunes.
This evening, August, Darlene (PHXGMC’s assistant artistic director), and I will watch and listen to a stream of chorus members who are auditioning for the nine speaking roles that tell stories (fictionalized ones rooted in reality) of how Broadway music has served as a beacon for our LGBTQ+ community in happy and sad times.
I am proud of my involvement with the chorus as both a second-tenor performer and librettist. At this stage of life, time moves quickly. It’s difficult for me to believe that I have been singing with the chorus for nine years, since Tom and I moved to Arizona in 2017.
As my sixty-ninth birthday fast approaches in early July, this community of friends–truly a safe haven in our chaotic country–provides an ongoing-and-meaningful oasis during these Sixty-Something Days … ones I am grateful for even on the hottest days that surely loom beyond this stretch of ground Tom and I walk along the Crosscut Canal and Papago Buttes.
Hardly. The latest western winter storm battered Arizona last night.
It dropped temperatures, ushered in the wind, and dumped a few feet of fresh snow on Flagstaff. Sixteen inches on Prescott, less than two hours north of us.
While, down in the Valley of the Sun, heavy rains soaked our saguaros.
This afternoon, nature’s afterglow appeared. A brisk fifty-five-degree walk along the Crosscut Canal proved we are protected on the north and east by ranges adorned with snowy peaks.
Squint, beyond a woman texting while walking her dog. See the tops of the Superstition Mountains thirty miles east? They won’t stay white for long.
New Year’s Day’s rhumba of rain and hail–with a rainbow sideshow in between–has left the Valley of the Sun soggy with champagne memories.
Enter a fresh batch of magnificent, cottony clouds to blot the skies over the Crosscut Canal and reveal January’s sparkling possibilities waiting on the horizon.
Sunday’s touch of soreness in my right arm–from Saturday’s latest Covid booster–didn’t deter me from capturing 5,266 steps along the Crosscut Canal and this blue-sky, north-facing view of Camelback Mountain from the bridge.
It was the calm I needed and inhaled to organize my thoughts. Away from the world but planted firmly on it. Serenaded by a few distant Sky Harbor departures, slow stream of bikes buzzing by, and family of Gambel’s quail rushing down the embankment for Sunday brunch.
It’s rare for me to rise to witness morning’s first light. But, at 4:45 a.m., I was thirsty and warm.
I peeked from our den window through the Sunday slats of our vertical blinds to see a line of doves welcome the day.
I heard the clock ticking in the hall, then reclined on the couch to check the news feed on my phone.
Soon after, I heard Tom stir. Bleary eyed, he staggered into the living room to check on me.
We resolved to soothe our parched throats with cold water from the fridge. That’s what you do in June in Arizona. You hydrate over and over again to endure the heat of the desert.
By 5:30ish, we had summoned enough energy to pull on our shorts and socks, tie our shoes, grab our floppy hats and sunglasses, and step toward the alley that would lead us to the Crosscut Canal and Papago Park.
Just outside our door, our neighbor Glenn happened by with Mason and Katie, his two gentle-giant Newfoundlands, tugging him along.
We exchanged good mornings. Tom patted and stroked Mason’s long back. Katie and I locked eyes. Most of the puppy’s brown fur has turned black. Soon she we will be full grown.
We said our goodbyes. Tom and I continued walking west. When we reached the canal at 5:45, my phone told me it was 84 degrees–on the way to 113 by late afternoon.
Scorching, yes, but any person in their right mind knows to stay inside (or at least cover up) when the heat spikes. June isn’t a month to be savored in the Sonoran Desert. It’s simply one to survive.
By 6:00, we had walked past a few joggers and the full length of the fence that separates the canal path with the Desert Botanical Garden. We decided to stop and turn around.
The sun was beginning to bear down. I paused, peered west, pulled my phone from my pocket, and captured the saguaros waking in the morning light.
On our return trip, a few monarchs danced and perched on the milkwood near the fence line. Tiny lizards skittered by as we chugged water from our bottles.
We retraced our steps, crossed the pedestrian bridge, welcomed shade from the Roadrunner apartment complex, turned the corner down the alley, and headed east to our cozy two-bedroom condo.
We all know it when we feel it … love. When it is there, it fills our hearts and lights up the world.
I’m not only referring to romantic and physical love between two human beings–two men, two women, or a woman and man. Most of us need and want some form of that depending on our orientation.
True love goes beyond the jewelry commercials that implore men to buy rings for their sweethearts. It appears in many forms–parental love, neighborly love, pet love, friendship, companionship, etc. In my heart and mind, love is a close cousin of natural beauty, peace, kindness, and human decency.
As Tom and I strolled in the sun this morning along the Crosscut Canal in Scottsdale, I was transported back to grade school in the St. Louis suburbs and the Valentine’s Days of my 1960s childhood.
In those days, we created and decorated our individual holiday mail slots, fashioned out of shoe boxes and adorned with red, pink and white construction paper. Some were simple. Others grandiose, laden with tiny, pastel-colored candy hearts bearing messages. “Be Mine” was my favorite, because it communicated a winning combination of love, playfulness, and commitment.
Each year, our teachers were careful to instruct us to bring a paper valentine for each child in our classroom. Most of us followed the rules and returned with a packet of store-bought cards featuring Looney Tunes cartoon characters, Superman, cuddly puppies and kittens. Then, we went around the room and deposited all of our “love” messages. (Sixty years ago, we also had parties and trays of decorated cupcakes delivered by two or three “room moms” to our classrooms.)
Then and now, I liked the kindness and equity of that valentine distribution plan. Of course, some kids were more popular than others, but this even-handed method leveled the valentine playing field. In practice at least, each child got to feel the love of opening a box filled with valentines from each of his or her classmates.
I confess. I don’t know how schools treat Valentine’s Day now. But I suspect it’s a different animal. At a time when children and adults are bombarded with messages of fear and pandemic uncertainty, we are living in a world with a short supply of love. We need valentines more than ever this year.
It doesn’t cost much to whisper a message of love to a friend. Or to send a text or drop a card in the mailboxes of those in your metaphoric classroom.
Do it today. I’ll start. Won’t you be mine?
On January 26, 2022, I captured this photo of two geese sharing a tender moment on the path of life at the Riparian Preserve in Gilbert, Arizona.
Are you missing your favorite monkey? Are you searching for a bridge to a higher plain? Do you need to be reminded that you are beautiful? You’ll find them all here along the Crosscut Canal between Scottsdale and Tempe.
