Morning walk

The desert this morning is alive with hooting, chirping, screeching. A bunny runs across the road; a starled dove flies up out of a prickly pear patch. The air all around is heavy with the perfume.

It’s spring, and I first came to the desert in early autumn, a different–harsher, browner–season. Even so, I wonder, as I walk, how on that first visit I could ever have found this place dead.

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