Spring

With just a little bit of rain, this is what happens in the desert southwest. A different kind of spring.

And here's a poem by Mary Oliver:

Praying

It doesn't have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones, just
pay attention, then patch


a few words together and don't try
to make them elaborate, this isn't
a contest but the doorway


into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.