October 6, 2022

The same dreams came nearly every morning. They flowed in and out of me like waves as I wakened to the air, growing too cold for me now. This white sandy basin in the Utah desert beckoned for the sea. Oh how I missed trips to the ocean, where I could touch the edge. Today, I would not climb the lava rocks. Instead, I would walk miles into the flat ghostly plains where I would collect treasures born from the fissures of this parched earth. Tiny seashells smooth and curved in their perfection would present themselves after the passage of three billion years.

Mesmerized, I collected a handful wishing for a pail. I was elated my dreams had come to fruition, even more magical with the absence of brine.

Visitors arrived later in the day as i had been serving up oatmeal flakes to my chipmunk friends. They would gather them up and race back to their hollows in the ground storing them for sparser times. The portent in the weather change was driving them as well. The entire family would come after word got out. They scampered away at the sight of my unexpected guests. A lovely woman, brimming of health emerged from the passenger seat of a rusted out pickup truck. Her brother, the driver, followed. She carried a plate in my direction, apologizing for the intrusion on my solitude while peeling back the plastic wrap. She was offering a freshly baked cookie from her daughter's kitchen. The pale risen cakes were topped with browned, apple slivers. How could this be? A woman appears before me, into this desert with a plateful of freshly baked cookies. How many months had it been since i'd had the pleasure of home baked morsels? Holly was her name. The mother of seven children and she too wanted to know my story, another passenger on the bus...another set of eyes peering though the glass.

Just as i had formulated a response, a pair of my striped, furry friends lost their shyness and came calling. Perched on hind legs with paws clasped, suggesting patience, they begged. Holly and her brother, eyes wide, mouths open, were dumbstruck. They had never seen these creatures so friendly, as if they were trained. Dr Dolittle in the desert with the chipmunks. What a moment indeed!

She savored every bit of my tale and insisted on a photo of us together. I impressed upon her how my sensitivities had become so triggered, that i was able to detect whether someone was living in a severely water damaged building. And that I would know simply by the clothes they were wearing. She stepped back in fear of what her own clothing might reveal. "No", I assured her, "I would have backed away well before now." She brought up her own chemical sensitivities and mentioned the overload of pesticides the ranchers used here growing in the fields. "Too much of that?", "I spend the day hiking outside." Her knowledge was extensive and valuable beyond words. "Have you heard the drumming", she asked? Quizzically, I shook my head. But then, after she"d gone into further detail, Why yes, I did hear this drumming she spoke of. "It's in the earth", she said. "It sounds like a drum circle, a ceremony of sorts. Some people think it is the ancestors of the Native Americans." I sought google for more on this matter. Even horses were known to respond to the mystery of these quaking echoes rearing up, and whinny'ing, the all knowing fine tuned perception of the horse.

She spouted off the names of her seven children when asked, missing two at first, being called on it by her brother and repeating the practice, this time with the help of her fingers. She spoke of where to dig for gemstones and trilobites and shared her knowledge of the petroglyphs on these lava rocks. "Don't tell anyone, but they're all over this area. Wait till twilight or dawn when the sun is low. You'll find them then." "Why should I not tell anyone?" I asked, saying no one really knew where I was anyway, as I was never specific. "These people," she said, "They bring their guns and shoot at them." She pronounced with a sneer. Aghast, I shook my head gesturing a broad sweep over the silver and brass bullet casings littering the ground before us, catching the last of the days sun.

We said our goodbyes and somehow I felt like I'd known her all of my life. We spoke the same language. The last thing she told me was "if you're going to Nevada, you should pan for gold. You may not strike it rich, but it's a way people make a living." I smiled inwardly. What a funny life this has turned out to be. I tightened the laces on my boots and headed into the hillside of black rocks. She was right. In no time, I had found a couple of simple etchings and another of which was quite complex.

This entire day was spent digging up the past, urging dreams to come to life. I can now clearly see, this resonates with the purpose of what it is that I am doing here.

Thank you so much for reading my tales.

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