Desert Wind


There is no romance in this land

just tiny elf owlets begging in desperate chorus

from their hollowed saguaro

for their mother’s catch

and the ferocious beating of insect wings

against the searing air like the dying gasp

of an old plodding bass drum

Everything is poisonous or stings or pricks or bites

Behind the chaparral bush and rare cacti bloom

Beware the coiled warning thrum

With the soul of a poet and

the soles of a dead man hiking

I’ll walk 700 miles through this place

just to hold her hand

Out here, it’s not what we acquire

but how shit gets moved around. -Skeeter

Categories: Desert, hiking, long distance hiking, PCT, thru-hiking, Uncategorized | Tags: , | Leave a comment

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