West Desert Journal

Whether you celebrate Christmas or not, this is one of the rare Christmas poems that I wrote for the season. I wish everybody a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

The Christmas Dream

Tonight it snowed, but the fire danced.
The lights twinkled on the little spruce tree.
The children sang to their grandmother,
but now they sleep in their cozy beds.

The fire keeps the cabin warm in winter’s deep.
The soft bells are jingling in her mind.
We go back in time, when Jesus was born.
It was a miracle beneath the starry skies of Bethlehem.
Across the shadowy land, the shepherds
watched their herds of sheep.

The Christmas Spirit is strong tonight.
That Christmas tree sparkles.
The children sang their carols into memories,
and the old woman wept quietly in joy.

While battles are fought in far off lands,
and the snowy mountain freezes cold,
at least the little cabin is safe on Christmas Eve.
The dark earth kindles the ancient forest,
as a great-horned owl drinks the silvery moon.

The Grandmother dreams of the baby Jesus
wrapped warmly in a manger.
The candles burn bright in the Christmas dream.
The children sleep in their beds -
Inside the warm little cabin.

In January, the sun barely melts the frost in the morning. The high reaches no more then forty degrees Fahrenheit. The clouds snuggle closer to the earth, and the sun sets further towards the Southwest. Every exhalation is a warm visible steam jetting from the nostrils of creatures able to survive the hostility of the frigid desert. At night, under the moon, groups of Mule Deer bundle together and bed down beneath cottonwoods, near the farm communities. Driving steadily at night, on a frontage road, you drive no faster then thirty to avoid bouncing a buck. Locals go spotlighting in the middle of the night.

The days are so short with barely the chance to get anything done. The farmer barely has enough time to finish the chores before returning to the house to stoke the fire, to chop the wood, and feed the chickens. The old farmer or rancher, kicks off his smelly, snuggly boots, and flips on the television.

As one watches the flames dancing in the stove, they hear the chilling winds beat the house outside. A blizzard is on the way. The mother cat gave birth to six kittens just the other night. My grandmother used her padded arm for the mother cat to grip while she was in labor. Just like a human, she wanted every body close by to show support, especially grandmother. Now the mother cat follows grandma all around the house.

January is spent in the house hugging the stove. Unless you dress up in long johns and heavy flannel cloths, and a warm heavy wool hat. Then you can venture out into the frigid.

His pillow is an ancient cottonwood. Wind pushes gigantic branches. He loves the twisted tree. His bare feet sift cold yellow sand. The clumps of grass push against his back. The ground is wet and moist from a previous storm. The boy sleeps to the constant summer wind and the singing creek near the reeds.. Just around the corner, big plateaus devour the landscape. He dreams of them. The cottonwood knows and sees everything.

Listen to the wind as it travels through the canyons.

He’s standing on the top of a butte looking out across Canyon Country. In the distance a thunderstorm is on the rise. The lightning calls. The earth is dark. He doesn’t fear the darkness of the night. The Unknown is waiting. Over the endless expanse, the Creator is waiting. He walks across the sky, travels with the rain clouds. Hear the wind singing.

In isolation and safety, he moves through shadows further away from the daylight into the peaceful night. In the day, he dreams of sandstone, red muddy water, and the ancient cottonwood.

The Unknown walks with him, teaching him, and guiding him.

Bad news. It turns out that I won’t be working at the gift shop. The owner hires me, only to have second thoughts and tells me that he can’t afford to hire another employee. So tonight I was a little depressed feeling bad, because I was actually anticipating this job and would’ve enjoyed it. Cookies like me are tough, they never give up! Life is unpredictable. Working there can remain a good memory, but I am not going to let it sadden me any further.

The passed week I’ve been missing Flagstaff. Ed Little’s photos of the Peaks are a reminder! I might journey down there this January and go shoot some photos. Hopefully I can find a way to get into some four wheel drive before long and I will be long gone from civilization with all the spare time that I can muster. I’m going to start badgering those guys over at the BLM and see if they have anything to offer; if I have a snowball’s chance in hell! I might have a job later in the Spring working for the BAR 10 ranch down on the Arizona Strip.

Man, I am really craving isolation right now, not because of anything. It’s been this way for a while. I don’t really care what people have to say either. I am happy to have the opportunity to escape when needed. The wilderness is at my front porch every day. When the sun goes down, I like to watch the red rock light up like the furnace coal.

If there was a vortex that could send me back three thousand years I’d probably step back and hesitate for a moment and then jump through. Sometimes I wander why Creator put me in this time, in this reality. I’ve been waiting far too long for my ship to come in. Maybe some people have to swim out a little ways?