By Randy Lundy
You sit in the forgotten bone-dry hills
surrounded by sand and sagebrush
above Buffalo Pound Lake.
A day and a night, and then
three more days and nights.
Do not mark the hours. Just sit
until the prickly pear raises its bloom.
A pale thing, translucent moon, sea anemone,
the first thin veil of a cataract that will lead a man
to the necessity of seeing with another kind of eye.
Can you birth a thing like this flower?
Elemental, composed of water and light.
The concentrated effort of pure will.
The blossom wilts and drops
without sadness, nothing resembling
nostalgia or regret.
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I spent Monday morning organizing ancestry files so I could email a coherent family tree to my cousin Sarah, who lost her mother last month and whom I had promised to send the information I had gathered in the past few weeks. Then I had what I thought was going to be a routine ophthalmologist appointment, but apparently the narrow angles in my left eye are closing off drainage and I need laser surgery so I don't get glaucoma, so that will be in my next couple of weeks (this has nothing to do with being prediabetic, I'm told; it's a combination of genetics and age).
We took a walk to the park after the eye doctor in what started as partly sunny weather, then it started hailing, then sleeting, and finally snowing before we actually got to the beach! Of course it had mostly stopped just as we got home, but we were drenched. The cats were very happy when I turned on a heated blanket and I had Effie all over me until dinner, then all over me again while watching several episodes of Avatar: The Last Airbender until I had to stand up because my butt was asleep. Usually she prefers to sit on men! Here are some of the cacti in the conservatory at Volunteer Park:
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