Life before death was green and verdant, with shady places to rest from the heat. Make no doubt--there was heat, for our star burns brightly, bringing life and death to all landscapes. But there was respite--cool shade to escape the burning, green grass to soften the path, and bubbling brooks to sing songs to my soul.
Now the heat is unbearable. The sand scratches and scrapes. The view blurs as the heat radiates back off the ground. Life in the desert is dependent on precious water---hard to come by, and harder to hold. Many things go underground to survive, and so do I. I bury the tender, living part of my heart beneath whatever soil I can scrape up: platitudes, busy-ness, distraction, numbness. I walk in the heat of the scorching sun with my heart buried deep for safety, waiting for a day far-off, when gentle rains may come and bring it to life, ready to bear fruit again.
Thus I will live in the desert.
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