This is a picture of a dry creek bed I like to come to. You cant even see the smooth rock I like to lay on, all stretched out shaded by several small pines. Its a place I love to come because it reminds me of Sedona and the warm red smooth rocks, ready to energize. Nope you cant see the red rocks and red sand, the small trickle of water into a deep puddle, home to all sorts of snails and little polliwogs. The ants who make a single file line to bite my butt cheeks and ankles.
There is so much life in this ol' dry creek bed, coyote footprints. Deer tracts and what I think to be one or all; raccoon, possum, armadillo, small little pads with deep long nails dug in one step at a time. The owls wait on thick branches for mice and the rabbits. The sounds are almost as rich as the sites. The other day I was hearing a low screech like sound. I'm thinking had to be some kind of bird. I like to close my eyes and separate the orchestra of sound into each individual player. Tree frog, cricket, meadowlark, blackbird, wind.
The dry creek has waited for this. Ready to receive the abundant and dominating serge of a storm. It holds on for its rapture as it's walls separate and open into tiny sand particles to be washed away. The opportunistic trees that have regrettably taken the soft soil in which to stretch there roots are ripped and violently taken along side a small blue bucket, a Styrofoam cooler and a faded beat up fake duck stopped by a dam, crushed by all that follows. The trees on the bank above clutch the soil beneath them, tightly digging there slender root fingers in to the fleshy earth.
the powerful excitement of a thing that cannot be stopped must be surrendered to. A crazy giddiness and dread fills the air. Nothing can be done. Let go, give in. submit. invite.
The water subsides as quickly as it approached leaving shreds of life and ugly destruction in its wake. No apoligy, no thank you for recieving me, nothing. The storm has move on. The creek bed, sand and soil is swollen beneath my feet and I sink into it deeply.