24 October, 2014

So a few weeks ago i stumbled upon the Tucson Backyard Gardening Facebook group.

It's amazing. 8,000 people in my city sharing yardporn, IDing each others' unknown plants and birds, and offering cultivation tips and jokes. It's feeding me such green energy, energy that makes me want to turn the compost pile and see what sort of eight-months-pregnant is happening.
And as everybody's posting in there now, i too am sitting outdoors, under a ramada wrapped with Queen's Wreath (i know its name thanks to the group) and white lights.

The crickets are chirping, the train is blowing its distant horn, the night air is tepid and fine of flavor as the my tequila in my glass. And it is wondrous: Eight months since i've laid claim to this desert postage stamp, i've seen it bloom in monsoon and wither in heat, and there may actually be something gestated in the compost pile now.
November, the fulness of the year. It is still my favorite month. This desert moxie has me crazy, this perfect air temperature - that phantom reference point we never seem to know the feeling of, neither manic nor depressive. It is the somatic meteorologic equivalent of a paragraph that is at once prose and lyric and blogpost. November conjures up memories of a study in bronze-flecked grey, of long-senesced stalks of goldenrod and rue, beechfruits in tangled branches and cocoons here and there on the ironwood. It is the jīngquè de duìmiàn, the precise opposite, of shadbush.
And November conjures memories of my first visit to this state that becomes my home, of Wupatki and Hermit Creek. The fulness of the year, of squash and yam, of thanks-giving and the green jello salad with pecans and cottage cheese in it that Trisha remembered from her first American thanks-giving. And Diwali.
I ought to put on some new clothes, some clothes that really belong to this place, like the cactus wren and gila woodpecker and hummingbirds belong to this place. A time may yet come when they are as familiar to me as bobolinks and black-throated blues and the circumboreal winter wren. And as i host couchsurfers i'll dream of travelling and couchsurfing where i can see the kea and common linnet.
This air temperature and the white lights, and one night two weeks ago when i saw a lantern rise aloft over the city. This city i can live by the beating heart of and yet see hummingbirds in my backyard and mountains on the horizon. The southwest is an amazing place, man.
It's funny. I looked at gardening pictures and it gave me just the same feeling getting the FEDCO catalog does. The desert is fucking beautiful and i'm feeling surprisingly good. Maybe it's the tequila. It's part and parcel of the place. Though i do miss the Allen's coffee brandy. I write a Facebook post and it reminds me of the writing i did in college, the stuff that got published in The Beggar, of Jesse and Khera.

It's been far too long since i've written in my seyahatname.

It's also telling that i write html tags into ordinary text (most of them were sublimated as formatting when i pasted this onto Blogger) and can't decide which is more self-conscious, verdana or