Saguaro...and Other Things

I’m in a reflective mood...will you join me?

It was brought on by a beautiful photo of a saguaro cactus, reminding me of a trip to Arizona a few years ago. You know the ones I’m talking about – those tall cacti the cowboys pass in all those good, old western movies. They’re the lonely ones that look like signposts: go here, no there. And they’re often accompanied by that haunting music…whang, whang,…wrangle-whang…

I had never given them much thought, personally, until this particular trip, when we found out that if there’s one thing folks in the West are proud of, it’s their cacti.

Did you know that it takes at least seventy-five years of growth before a saguaro cactus even begins to grow its ‘arms’? So the ones you see that have big, tall appendages are ancient! (Five arms or more means it’s probably over two hundred years old.) And protected. You face stiff penalties if you’re caught messing with any saguaro, at least in Arizona.

Then, I remember when I worked for the phone company as an installer. I never knew where I would end up. My job often took me to the farthest reaches of the county, and to some of the oldest homes.

Once, I was shocked to install a brand, new, first-time phone line for an eighty-year-old woman. Her family was ‘updating’ her house. They were also putting vinyl siding on the old homeplace and installing indoor, running water!

By then, I was familiar with the surprises that I ran across in my job and I kept a camera handy. When I asked if I might take pictures, she generously allowed me to photograph her outhouse and windlass-type well. I couldn’t imagine a house in that day and age without the modern conveniences we take for granted.

I ran across lots of crazy things as an installer. On another day, I pulled up to a job-site and happened to look across the gravel road from the address, where there was a tall, dirt embankment. Splitting the embankment in half was the back of a yellow school bus. It was completely buried in the ground…all you could see was the back end with the exit doors. These inventive folks had created their own take on a storm shelter. That one caused me to do a double-take, I promise.

There are plenty of places I go, even now, where I am overwhelmed by the historic nature of buildings, places and things. It makes me glad we have Historical Societies that are dedicated to helping find out the stories behind these varied things and who then take the time and energy to try to preserve them just as they were.

But sometimes it strikes me as sad that I can get so easily enraptured about a building or an unusual artifact, and then can walk right past a human being that has an important history of his own.

It seems as the world gets busier, we have less time for each other. That’s a sad thing, don’t you think? Everyone has a story to tell. I’m sorry I don’t slow down more often to hear those stories.

Like the saguaro cactus, you can’t tell just by looking that there’s something magical there. You have to do a little investigating.

Hi, my name is robyn. Glad to meet you.      

Why Should Colors Matter?

Why do colors matter?

We’re all the same inside

Why should variations

In skin cause a divide?

I’m lots of different colors

Depending on the day

Depending on the way I feel

And things that people say

I’m blood red when I’m angry

And yellow when I’m scared

I’m not sure, but I suppose

These feelings might be shared

When I’m hurt, I’m black and blue

I know we cry the same

When I’m scared, I turn ghost-white

And pink, when I’m ashamed

When envy has me by the tail

I admit to seeing green

But I have never crossed someone

For the sake of being mean

These tendencies are foolish

Perhaps they will subside

Why should colors matter?

When we’re all the same inside

***

Something to think about for today...Hope your day is all it can be and more -- MAKE IT SO!  *smile*

Whippoorwill

She rode in on whippoorwill
Seeking for a home
Was blinded by the strobing lights
Dazed by all the chrome

She spoke a different language
Walked a different way
Searched the world for stardrops
All she found was clay

They put her in a tiny cage
And taught her how to sing
They wrapped her heart in darkness
She never saw the spring

Bit by bit her light grew dim
She finally lost her way
By then her captors owned her soul
And she was helpless prey

Whippoorwill sings a mournful tune
A haunting melody
For the one who came and loved us all
Just wanting to be free


Hope you enjoy my poem today.  I wonder if you can guess who it is written for?  (Noone of today.)