The guardians of dusk blow fire from the Rincons as clouds confer over the Catalinas in the fading tracks of humans. I interpret the blur of red as female rain tomorrow, or the child born with the blessing of animals who will always protect her. I am always amazed at the skill of rain clouds who outline the weave of human destiny.
Crickets memorize the chance event with rain songs they have practiced for centuries.
I am re-created by that language. Their predictions are always true. And as beautiful as saguaro flowers drinking rain. I see the moon as I have never seen the moon, a half-shell, just large enough for a cradleboard and the child who takes part in the dance of evolution as seen in the procession of tadpoles to humans painting the walls with wishes. From the moon we all look the same.