An Emerald Ring
Horse Shoe Bend, Colorado River, AZ.
Water is married to the landscape of the Southwest. Smaller streams may dry up, flash floods self-expend, but the Colorado is eternal. It is the desert’s lover. Perhaps this is where the river made a proposal, and placed a ring, however imperfect, around the mesa opposite me. Standing on the rim, there is a sense of the depth of love that preserved that finger. The jade complements my sun burned arena, it is nature's color wheel. I, too, got an emerald ring, and put it on an elegant finger, for the sake of love. It wasn’t the first ring…although I have never given one lightly. Because within it, destinies have collided. Within it, loyalty and faith should need no definition. But the ring I gave must not have been perfect, somehow the braid was broken. The bond of that ring must have poured out of the gap in the continuum. Or maybe justifications poured in, corrupting the concept of it, and of all the rings before. It was my fault, to believe the idea was stronger than the circle. In the end it is the wearer’s choice to honor, or not, and I think the desert has more forever in it than we sad human beings do. People think this is a vast wasteland—I can only say my feelings differ. I can admire the comfort of the relationship I see out there, and realize my solitary is within.