Saturday, April 21, 2018

Home again

It was already dark when I landed in Phoenix. Dorothy drove me to the retreat center in Carefree (really!) and all I noticed on the drive was there was sand rather than grass on the edge of the highways.

The next morning I got up and went out on my balcony and said to myself, "I'm not in New England any more!" The Arizona landscape is nothing I was ready for though I've seen it in movies--sparse yet bursting with life, vacant but full of beauty, empty yet breath-taking. Huge brown mountains. Cacti as tall as trees and in varieties beyond number. Shrubs I'd never seen or imagined. Birds that were for the most part foreign to me (even saw a couple of road-runners!). Small wild pigs and lots of crawling things. Amazing.

I went already planning to come home with wild tales of the unbearable heat, I wasn't hot once in the four days. It was seldom below 70 and mostly between 80 and 85, but the breeze was constant and I finally understand the concept of 'dry heat'. One day I asked one of the employees what the humidity was. He check his phone and said, "Oh, my, it's 13 per cent--that's really high!"

You do have to drink copious amounts of water, but not because you're sweating--just because you're giving your moisture to the air.

It was a great trip.

Right beside 'Spirit of the Desert', which was the name of the place, was a large mountain that was so rocky it looked like it was simply a pile of stones. Al, one of the workers, pointed out a house at the very top. "There's a heli-port up there too," he told me. The house and helicopter landing spot belong to Bruce Springsteen!

Of course The Boss would live on mountain tops....

More later.

So good to be home and writing for you.

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About Me

some ponderings by an aging white man who is an Episcopal priest in Connecticut. Now retired but still working and still wondering what it all means...all of it.