One Thousand Desert Winters


The calendar on the wall kept watch alone
for one thousand desert winters
and one thousand desert summers.
Faithfully measuring out the seasons.
The rabbits and rock doves had their own calendars.
The coyotes took note of every moonrise.
Lizards were thankful for the morning sun.
Years passed, stars fell and crickets chirped
but no one watched the calendar.

Someone once kept a holy vigil.
They watched the calendar and the changing seasons.
That was long ago and for reasons we can only guess.
Things change slowly here in the desert. One can lose track.
Was it a secret place? Was it a sacred place?
This space of discourse between sun and stone
was witnessed by a silent scribe. Watch closely…take note.
Each morning was important – day in, day out.
The morning sun sent its dagger deeper, striking out the
old season and bringing forth the new.



I Have Loved the Stars Too Fondly to be Fearful of the Night


Moonless starry sky

peeks through a  lace cloud curtain.

Pleiades appears.

This is sort of an early ‘heads up’. Mark your calendars for August 12th. That’s my birthday and also the peak of the Perseids meteor shower. If God ordained that I should be born on the date of the annual Perseids meteor shower then the least I should do is give thanks and stay up to watch the show. I’ve been doing this every year since I was about twelve years old and I’m turning 68, if all goes as planned. That’s fifty-six years of watching falling stars light up the sky.  I have friends around the country and in other countries, actually, who go out to watch the Perseids for my birthday.  It’s sort of a gift that they give themselves for my birthday. I invite you to join in. Just let me know. This should be a great year.

I delight in the night sky.


(The title comes from the poem “The Old Astronomer” by Sarah Williams, 1837 – 1868)