As I recall as a child living on the high deserts…
Somewhere between three and four am…
It was as if someone exhaled a cold chill…
I remember pulling a quilt up over my head…
It was old and one my GrandMother had made…
The closer to dawn the fewer stars you could find…
That cold chill became a breeze as dawn approached…
And yet if you didn’t have chores needing to be done…
You might find a few minutes to enjoy some coffee…
You might even find time to dip into the good Word…
You might even feel the early morning warmth…
Shortly after breaking fast the warmth was now heat…
That heat was on its way to scorching what was alive…
I recall wondering how anything survived the high desert…
There was a brief window when a cooling breath allowed…
The true beauty of life in and on the high desert…
They call New Mexico the Land Of Enchantment…
I wish I had never left, but I was only ten…
Been back three times…
Maybe four will be my last vision of beauty…
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