Driving Through Eternity

The cacti stood serene above us. Their limbs and fronds and flowers rose into the tender blue of the sky. Birds called across the depths below the roadway.

I grope to describe what I felt, there in the haunting depths of nature on our drive through eternity. A finer poet than I will ever be captured my sentiment long before I came to this place of majesty.

It’s the twelfth day of the sixty-fourth month of My Year Without Complaining. Life continues.

There Will Come Soft Rains

Sara Teasdale, 1884 – 1933

There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,

and swallows circling with their shimmering sound;

and frogs in the pool singing at night,

And wild plum trees in tremulous white;

Robins will wear their feathery fire

Whistling their whims on a low fence wire;

and not one will know of the war, not one

Will care at last when it is done.

Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree

If mankind perished utterly.

Taken at Saguaro National Park, East; 12 April 2019.

With special thanks to my tour guide, Pat Reynolds.

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