Hot Springs Healing

I was called to the high desert, where the lack of trees and brush allows one to see the naked earth in a mottled pallet of varied hues never recorded on a limiting canvas. I knew when to stop for a leaking radiator hose began to sing -- I needed to stretch anyway. I spied a shimmer of green about a mile away and decided the risk of being fooled by a miraged longing was worth the chance to replenish my emergency water supply. The oasis was a spot obviously known to others. A rutted trail wound up a hidden arroyo, cut by motorcycle and horse, if my primitive detective work had any value. The pool was one I had been taught was called ‘morning glory’, as it often resembled the fluted flower. The Indians had another name, I am sure, since no such flower existed in this arid spot. The warm water from the natural hot spring caused multi-colored streaks to grow on the curved walls that descended to untold depths. There were no waves on the surface scarcely thirty feet across, yet the edges moved in a pulsing rhythm – driven by the heart of a dragon deep beneath the basalt lip. A tiny stream meandered down the ravine to be slurped up by the hungry sand. Life and death within just a few strides. A few scraggly bushes, scarcely green, managed to extract some measure of life from the mineral water. There were no telling animal tracks here -– no thirst to slake at this enticing spot. Sigh. So beautiful, so austere -– so profaned. For in the depths of the clear fountain could be seen a number of beer cans and other trash. These spoke out as dramatically as any profanity, worse still because the strange water did not reflect the occasional passing cloud. So clear -– painfully clear -– why I was called. My corpulent form is not a thing of naked beauty, yet possibly … A passing bird, were there any, might have wondered at the strange fish striving down 15 feet or more to gather up the violating ‘gifts’. I now like to imagine that the pool will remain clear forever- – foolish. Anyway, a homeless baglady was happy for the cans.

faucon