I walked, worn and weary, in straits of my own making. Alone, despair, sun-drenched, dry, soul-wrung, cliff-ridden.  Atop the mesa my eye caught a glimpse of life’s abiding breeze. Of the balm of branch and trunk and leaf.Of shade, a never-had memory. But it left before my heart could swell, lifting my gaze to future groves.  Long ages, epochs, buffeting drought, till, filled Continue reading