I wish I could go into detail about my extraordinary weekend in the desert. I really wish I could. But unfortunately, I cannot.
The reason I cannot is because I don’t feel like it.
And it’s none of your damn business anyway.
Just know that out there in the desert there is much good wisdoms to be had. Light and love too, if you look under the right rocks.
And let me just say that this very weekend, I, who am not worthy, nay, not worthy to dust the feathery feet of the skinks of the dunes, was given by the desert and her denizens much that was of helpfultude and goodness, and for this I am grateful. Nay, I am gratefuller. Nay. It is gratefullest that I am. Truly now. Even most gratefullester. But I shall hold my tongue now, lest further disclosure of mine gratefulism, blind thine eyes with great bright blindings and shit.
The desert is a busy, busy place.
Some really nice pigs.
In the yard of a groundsman – caretaker to the place at which it was that I went – two big old pigs fed, snouts undulating like starving whiskered gastropods, dactyls digging at dirt like butcher-shop pig trotters (except alive and attached to pigs), bodies like great big round food packages wrapped in hairy pigskin. They were a boar and a sow.
The boar, sad of tusk, wire-haired, seemed to limp, favoring a back leg. The female, after sucking clean a wide round feeding trough, snuffled and lounged in the hot dirt. I spent a long time leaning on the fence watching them. Yes, it was private property. Yes, I was staring intently into someone’s backyard in the middle of the desert. Yes, it did occur to me that I could be shot. But the pigs, they boar too much fascination for me and avert my eyes I could not, nay.
Also, I was too tired.
Let them shoot me. See if I care. I dare ‘em. But no matter how many desert stones I pitched through their windows, no matter how many insults I screamed, nobody came out to do the deed. Maybe they were out gathering sand or some other desert activity.
The next day I returned to the house to peek again over the fence and scan the area for valuables not obviously locked up, and the pigs were not there. In their place were two firm but friendly watchdogs. Had the pigs turned into dogs overnight? I didn’t think so. But I couldn’t prove it. The dogs barked at me. I made weird clicking sounds at them, as well as a low burbling that sounded a bit like a Hungarian grandmother talking to a newborn. I think the dogs understood me. Most animals understand me. I used to think this was because I knew their language and their secret psychic workings. Now I believe it’s because I am so shallow that even a dog can pretty much get the whole story in about three minutes.
I saw a snake. Alas, not a rattler. But I’ll take what I can get, snakewise.
In the morning, I sat on a parkbench. A bird swooped in. Snatched up a long worm. Gobbled it, gobbled it. Took to the air.
Some lizards can run – in short bursts – up to 97 mph.
I saw rabbits. Multiple rabbits. Single rabbits. Rabbits in pairs. Rabbits sitting. Rabbits dashing. Rabbits hiding. Desert rabbits. Desert Cottontail Rabbits (Sylvilagus audubonnii), in fact.
Or were they … do you think? … could it be possible? … might they have been … Cutting Hares??
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