The mentors of the plains are the tall sandstone fins and spires, Who stand as the teachers for mankind, And whose intent on earth is to inspire, And to guide us and… Continue reading
God may have made the Grand Canyon, but he lives in Sedona
We live in the dry dusty desert Where we’re always short on water And even when the stars fall upon us It couldn’t get any hotter.
Treasures of solitude and fortunes of calm, Are buried there for us to find, Amongst the fluttering leaves of the aspen grove. . .
I had watched a dozen comets … Slowly creep across the beach, As each one signed its sweeping flourish, In the guest book of the sea.
The cool high country above, The burning deserts below, A precipice where dreams can begin, Or where they might just come true.
In the Sonoran Desert a fountain is springing, In the wide waste there still is a tree, And a bird in the solitude singing, Which speaks to my spirit of thee.