Season for Flying Things

It is the season
of flying things
birds
wasps
cicadas
desert wrens chattering
doves softly singing
repetitive evening song
human voices call in the distance
doves settle into trees
quail families running in orderly lines
newly hatched life following elders

Tarantula Hawk
biggest of wasps
most painful of stings
buzz by my head
orange wings on metallic blue body
lands on fragrant Tenaza flowers
sip nectar
air thick and heavy
monsoon moisture building
I am insignificant here

Tiny lizards new to the world
run near my feet
smaller than my smallest finger
hovering hummingbirds
silent night hawks soar by
here the desert envelopes me
singing of community
welcoming
woodpecker talks to her children
perched on the edge of a Saguaro hole
I am no different that the tiny striped lizard
searching for sustenance among the fallen leaves

Bats arrive in the form of dark delightful butterflies
fluttering and circling overhead
Mesquite seed pods fall to the ground at my feet
offering food
is this a gift for me?
I give thanks to the tree
collect the seed pods
no other place gives so much
could it be that this place has accepted me?
I often witness food
falling from trees and cactus
for each gift I give thanks
I know that by receiving these gifts
I become part of the desert community
what can a human give to the land in return?
why didn't my ancestors teach me how to properly accept these gifts?
trees are teaching me instead
knowledge has not been lost only silenced
more pods fall from the tree
as if the tree is asking me to stay
I tell the tree that I will return
next lesson to be learned while sleeping under protective branches
below the tree where many birds sleep


© 2011 Desert Dreamer