The Rushing Edge of NIght
For a moment we stood on the cliff at the edge of the Ajo
overlooking the flat plane that stretched out before us.
The desert below was covered with organ pipe and saguaro cactus.
On the horizon the earth spun the last rays of sun shifting colors:
light bending sky blue to sea green, gold then crimson,
each shade giving way to the deep purple that is the rushing edge of night.
Above and against the sheer cliff walls night hawks and swifts were
catching the last thermal rush of warm desert air as it was
drawn back into the cold chill of heaven.
Pancho Villa camped and hid here when the situation warranted.
In sandstone depressions under rocky shade the late summer rains pooled
creating water for the thirsty and feed for horses in the form of wild oats.
The Ajo mountains lay on a line north to south creating an expansive view.
Villa's sentries would have surveyed (as could we)
all movement on the desert floor below.
To the east the impenetrable rugged mountains stretch on for miles.
As we stood on solid rock eyes transfixed on the palette of light and color that surrounded---
our hearts soared with wings riding the winds that change and do not change
allowing---the past to catch up to the present
revealing secrets that linger in the warm
as the moment was swept up by the
rushing edge of night.