Sitting on the patio at Milo's Cellar and Inn, I found myself mesmerized by the sound of the water. The theory was to read and write, but I was absorbed with the sound; conscious of the water spilling over the gutter which had become a fountain.
We stayed at Milo's last year. It's an oasis in the desert, tucked above and behind the wine cellar exterior. Once the door closes that leads to the courtyard and rooms, one has entered another place, another time. A place where time is still and quiet, save for the profusion of water tipping over the gutter.
water tipped over the down turned gutter
covered with years of verdi gris on what was slick copper
the splashing was loud; landing in a pool inhabited by shiny koi and a turtle named Tom
cattails lived on the edge; conversant with existence in water and soil
moss adhered to rocks drinking in each splashed water molecule
listening, the sound was rhythmic and steady; a heartbeat in water
the water was disturbed; the koi didn't mind
drop after drop tipped and touched the pool, creating insignificant bubbles that dissipated against the reeds
gradually, turtle crawled on a rock; soaking in the sun
and I, I saw water shadows on the stucco wall
There are a few places that I would, and do return to each year. Mostly, they are places of solitude. Some are the exact spot, others are a replica. The way of the desert does it for me. I find inexplicable peace. It's a place of restoration where none appears to be; desolate, lonely and full of life. Water tipping out in the desert makes it an extraordinary juxtaposition.
Desert and water, until next time ...
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