Retirement living in Arizona is glorious. Even our long hot summer days begin with cooler temperatures, when I enjoy our patio the most. My talented husband has created a lovely environment in our back yard that I call my “secret garden.” He paved a generous patio area and covered it with a sun-softening pergola, furnished it with comfy swiveling chairs, planted successive layers of trees, bushes and flowering plants. It’s almost overgrown now, the greenery nearly disguises the 6-foot masonry wall, blocking the view of neighbors’ houses and even muting most sounds.
On rare occasions a coyote or even a bobcat scales the wall, runs across the yard, presumably looking for a snack (perhaps a small dog) and in a flash, scales the wall and is gone. Otherwise, not even a rabbit invades our very private domain.
Coffee: Most people around here are retired and usually sleep late, so my early mornings are quiet. My custom is to fill my cup with hot black coffee and slip out the back door for a peaceful hour of blissful solitude. First thing is to walk to the edge of the patio and dribble the first sip from the top of my cup into the Earth as a gift to our Mother as an expression of gratitude for the multitude of gifts she gives to us each day. Then I settle into my chair and allow my coffee to cool a bit while I meditate on our sustaining Earth and try to think of the things I can do, or not do, this day to not damage her further.
Finally I check the two small patches of sky left to me between roof and trees for signs of what the weather will be like. It’s usually cloudless, a pale blue, no rain expected again today. Sometimes a pale moon lingers, but all is still.
Peace: Every morning through the summer I hear a morning dove calling from one end of the street — coocoocachoo. Then I hear an answering dove calling from the other end of the street — coocoocachoo. They call back and forth for a while, then fall silent. I often wonder if they ever actually get together to spend the day. I return to my meditations.
War: Suddenly the sky over my head sounds like it is cracking wide open with an outrageous roaring sound akin to thunder. Wincing, I cover my ears and wait for this unwelcome crashing in the heavens to subside. It is only a pair of F-16 or F-38 (I think) jet fighters on their way to the open desert for a bit of practice in the art of war. Always in pairs, I believe the one trailing slightly is called a wing man, but that’s all I know from the movies. These planes have taken off from the nearby Luke Air Force Base, where pilots come from all over the world for training in the use of these powerful and magnificent machines of war.
After the first few times, I learned not to be alarmed, even to marvel and appreciate the loud intrusions. After all, these brave young pilots and their planes are part of the necessary defense of our country. I send up a prayer for their safety, and privately hope the only thing they ever get to do is fly over the dessert and practice the arts of war; never to actually have to carry out the awful acts of destruction and death for which those planes are designed. I know better, of course, but I can hope.
Thing is, the horrendous noise made by those powerful engines travels to our ears some time after the planes have passed. We cannot resist looking skyward to spot them and watch their progress across the sky, but sometimes it takes a few seconds to find them because the sight does not align with the sound. So I look first at the patch of sky in front of me, hoping to see the two planes passing, but there are none there. I quickly turn to the right and search the other patch of sky, thinking surely they will be passing there shortly. Nothing. The planes are somewhere above the roof behind me.
But wait! As I search the sky, there is a slight rustling in the tree in front of me. And out of that tree fly the two morning doves. They cross my little patch of sky, flying side by side, as if to say yes, we will indeed spend this day together, in peace.
Ahhhh.
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