The canyon edge looms out my bedroom windows,
pale adobe, stark.
Fall to death or serious injury!
I will not fall; I love living on the edge.
Rain brings a one hundred foot deluge,
a roar of water, cascading, screaming.
Someone said my house is pink; it is not pink!
It is the color of the canyon, the worldwide color,
Moroccan, pueblo, Saudi, Mali, Navaho, Timbuktu,
Desert, alive and lovely.
Three bucks watch me through my bedroom windows.
They see me move; they stare.
Isabella stands rigid, watching.
I kneel to her level; follow her eyes.
The bobcat casually climbs the canyon wall, impervious.
He marks the cedar tree, walks a deer path, disappears.
He is a secret, rarely seen.
The huge hoot owl’s voice echoes down the canyon,
drifting through my dreams.
A young road runner calls, scratchy,
running across the patio–on the edge.
In the spring the mocking bird sings all night,
“This is my territory.”
I sing all year, full of joy.
I live in beauty on the rim.
I decided to reblog this because it is the season for giving thanks, and I am eternally grateful for the privilege of living in such a beautiful place. Yesterday, my family and I took a hike here, saw deer, lovely colorful rocks, bunnies, and native plants the names of which I do not know. I live in beauty on the rim of wonder!! I feel blessed!!