Ash Fork Madness©️
Nana Cook and Charlotte Madison
copyright 2019 Nana Cook and Charlotte Madison
Roses in the Desert
G.B. turned off the lights inside the camper, we stepped down to dry, gritty, still hot ground, then settled close to each other in camp chairs. Surrounded by soft yet threatening, low desert heat of night, we silently leaned back in our chairs, reached for each other’s hand and gazed up at the blue-black night, the rising moon and the net full of stars flung across the great dark dome above us.
We had come south to this desolate spot south of Phoenix, in order that G.B. could show me a garden in the desert. The only flowers in these hectares of garden were roses – desert roses- dainty white flowers, tinged with the faintest pink – flowers that would never, never wilt or fade away and yet we were able to pick those translucent quartz desert roses scattered across the ground as far as one could see
G.B stared at a falling star following it to the horizon then his gaze trailed across the desert to the nearby fire pit he had dug and surrounded with rocks .
"This ’minds me of pink quartz a man ordered for his big fireplace in Texas. When a fire was burnin’ light came through that pink quartz as beautiful as anythang could be.
Reluctantly he pried himself out of his chair , WALKED over to the camper to fetch matches, newspaper and small cut rounds of juniper woodl “I’m a-gonna make y’all a fire Charle so y’all can smell y’all’s juniper wood a-burnin’”
Moments later with the hypnotic aroma of sweet juniper wood smoke encircling us, G.B. jogged his chair even nearer and pulled me close into embrace.
While the arm of my chair dented my body he said “Y’all look Sweetheart . Them roses a-layin’ an’ a-glowin’ in the moon’s light, look like stars from the sky, reflectin’ an’ a-glowin’ in a mirror
G.B. reached into the cooler he had placed by his chair and pulled out chilled Pepsis and Grasshopper cookies. While we nibbled and sipped, I wondered if there might be a tarantula approaching my bare feet – or maybe a rattlesnake winding it’s way up the tubing of my chair.
I was about to spoil a magic moment with my concern when G.B. asked, “Charle, do y’all remember the day y’all decided to have a garden an’ plant them God Damned Strawberries?”
Instantly I recalled the recent painful birth of our garden . . .