March 31 2014
I smell of desert herb, dust, and chemical toxic sweat. My
face is burnt from the mid-morning sun. The morning was still cool at 8, but has
warmed up since. I have said that summer is here. Perhaps it is not yet. The
vernal equinox is ten days past. Went out in mutant dress as befits the state of
things.
As I picked my way through stone and thorns resumed my silent dialogue with friends real and imagined. The two Pauls were on my mind in particular though J and the strange one were present in my head as well. The stone circle needed tending. In order to concentrate my efforts I concentrated on the octet section between vernal equinox and Beltane. Inner ground was cleaned of stones. Stones were piled on the edge of the templum. Conversation drifted across the subject of soil.
The Tucson Mountains are thought to be the collapsed rim of a large volcano. They are primarily composed of rhyolite. Colors range from black and lavender to grey, ochre and red. There is almost no organic layer to be found. Mineral dust, gravel, stone, and boulder are omnipresent. As soon as a plant or animal dies it is eaten by a succession of living organisms. Coyotes and javelina scavange. The sun dessicates. Birds peck. Ants carry away everything down to the last leaf and twig. What comes from the earth must surely return to the earth. In the cool dark of the ant kingdoms the remains of the surface world fungus and mold, providing nourishment for them, ultimately finding its way back the mineral and organic amnesia.
As I picked my way through stone and thorns resumed my silent dialogue with friends real and imagined. The two Pauls were on my mind in particular though J and the strange one were present in my head as well. The stone circle needed tending. In order to concentrate my efforts I concentrated on the octet section between vernal equinox and Beltane. Inner ground was cleaned of stones. Stones were piled on the edge of the templum. Conversation drifted across the subject of soil.
The Tucson Mountains are thought to be the collapsed rim of a large volcano. They are primarily composed of rhyolite. Colors range from black and lavender to grey, ochre and red. There is almost no organic layer to be found. Mineral dust, gravel, stone, and boulder are omnipresent. As soon as a plant or animal dies it is eaten by a succession of living organisms. Coyotes and javelina scavange. The sun dessicates. Birds peck. Ants carry away everything down to the last leaf and twig. What comes from the earth must surely return to the earth. In the cool dark of the ant kingdoms the remains of the surface world fungus and mold, providing nourishment for them, ultimately finding its way back the mineral and organic amnesia.
Woodpecker barked angrily at me from saguaro top nests. The circle walls grew. The circle had been filled with tiny white flowers when I entered. Larger yellow flowers were golden islands in their midst. Stubborn creosote towered over all. Hunched over moving tiny stones, I saw the smallest purple blossoms working their way upward through pea gravel and downward through dust.
I have made post holes in the desert below three foot depth. Never did I see moisture, nor feel any coolth in the earth. Honors are made to Brigit and the rising sun. Narrow trail is enjoined. Even small stones are felt through thin sole of shoe. That is as it should be. Minimal separation from earth. Wildflowers everywhere. Resolve to seed the circle with desert poppy. Must find packet of seed in forgotten hole of home.
A fine layer of the white flowers is everywhere like the fine hair of someone’s forearm. I cannot step but I crush them. I cannot avoid them. I am organic. I cannot remove myself from this system. My effect is concrete by simple presence. All systems are thus. All elements interact. There is no observer, only the participator.
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