Diamond-Cut Life

I was born in the Southern California desert:
Joshua trees praying to the dry sky ,
rain so rare that kids stayed home from school when it fell,
eucalyptus trees tangy in my nostrils.

Avocados six for a dollar at children’s sidewalk tables,
teenage girls working on their tans as seriously as their fathers worked for a living,
the scent of night-blooming jasmine sweet as my first boyfriend’s kiss.

Where I live now in Oregon:
a high, leafy wall of green outside my living room window,
I hike up Mount Tabor, an extinct volcano
as many shades and shapes of green as memories in my mind.
Blueberry bushes yielding me a rich snack,
harmonica player wailing against the sunset,
I skip downhill to be caught in my husband’s kiss.

I moved

from the desert to the forest
from dust to moss,
from oranges to blueberries,
from BMW’s to buses and bicycles,
from espresso at Starbucks to shade-grown at Stumptown,
from the dry to the moist.

Almost two decades since the move
I have ripened.
Feel how juicy I have become
and tender . . . . and generative .
I have more to give you now than before:
more care, more water, more attention, more love.
Whatever species you are,
the move north has loosened and opened me to you.

Photos courtesy of laszlo-photo and bibliona, respectively.

Related Posts:

• In The Southwest Desert
• Making The Ocean Drinkable, Part II
• The Fun of Being In Training