Thursday, 21 February 2008

Desert Time

Todos Santos, as in any typical winter, has not had any meaningful rain for several months now. Where once the sides of roads were crowded by thick, luxuriant green gasses and other weeds, there is now a brown collection of dried stems. But within our gardens, we maintain the illusion of Eden.

Water world

The touch of rain is a distant memory now
Or the hopeful artifact of a sun baked mind
Plants abandon unneeded frippery
As they draw juices inward to survive
Leaving brown husks of leaves
Illuminated by incongruous luminosity of flowers
The hope for a future generation

No sustenance now
Save the daily dose of dew
Funneled inward by cunning succulents
Culled by eons of Darwinian selection

The desiccated dust
Carrying mementoes of centuries of life
Lies lifeless
Till kicked angrily into flight
By the passing of a racing truck
Chasing, fruitlessly
For a damp place to regenerate

Yet within our walled secret garden
Life continues regardless
Verdant plants luxuriate
Bathing their feet twice weekly
In deep clear pools of cool water
And at the focal point of the dry patio
Sits our irrepressible bubbling fountain

Cascading drops
Shower without end
Their inexorable musical metallic plinking
Opening an aural window
Into a private place of inner calm
The smell of fresh dampness
Combining to create
An illusion of abundance
In a land of scarcity

For when we leave
With one swift flick of a switch
The magic stops
And the tenuousness of existence here
Become clearer
As the finite water

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