She was there,
we didn’t need to find her,
she was just there.
In a little green house,
her bedding was spread on the red earth, lived in, rustled, still warm.
The river bed was dry,
with white sand, not red like the earth,
white and soft, with a tempting invisibility.
It had something, a calling.
The girl or the river?
And we met again, and again and again,
as a gentle reminder of the beauty of life.
Our legs heavy, and breath saved for song, we walked the trail through the desert strong,
in anticipation of the next river bed,
together , girl and river, mother and daughter.
We made it to that place.
It was cool, welcoming with a wall of rock for shade.
Fringe lilies, that’s us,
women living outside the box,
never alone, always a camp to be welcomed at and a circle to sit in.
You are the treasures of my treasure hunt.