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Desert Soliloquy

  • By Helen Harrington

The desert is a quiet land. Its rock, its sand speak in whispers of eternity sometimes to me.

I have stood between the wind and sun and felt some message passed from yuccas to the Joshua tree, but it was one that did not last longer than a sigh or did not die ...

Was it remembered mud, a flood of sudden flowers creeping after rain?

I listen but the drifting world keeps sifting over secrets. The desert is a quiet land; I seem to stand in the center of an endless thought someone has forgot.

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