I peer out my patio door as the morning sunlight descends upon the neatly kept desert landscaping. In the section where I’m looking, it’s mostly earth-toned gravel. But two sharp lines cut across it, like massive animal scratch marks.
They’re the shadows of two trees.
The trees themselves are hidden by a stuccoed wall that helps enclose the one-car garage in that spot. I muse that the dark lines are the promise of nature to always reassert itself.
As I sip my coffee, the background music is a house finch’s chirp……..chirp…………chirp, emanating from a perch somewhere. Perhaps in one of the unseen trees?
the prickly pressed 