Past the end of the pavement, past the last power pole, beyond the sound of vehicles I walk into silence by the light of a waxing moon.
I pick my way through sagebrush and hedgehog cactus, sharp rocks, creosote bush, dead and downed palo verde.
Looking up I spot the first ocotillo flower buds of the season. No leaves yet, but the rosy buds are visible in sunset’s glow.
Nearby a single dove, coo-cooing into the coming dark.
Now the sun has gone into the west.
And I am to my bed.
Ocotillo Fouquieria splendens
Mourning dove Zenaida macroura