From my Utah porch—
dry wind sighing through sage and juniper—
I close my eyesand drift back to Sierra Vista,
to the summer storms of Fort Huachuca,
where I once thought I’d spend my days,
where I still walk, sometimes,
when sleep lets me wander. 

The desert there is lush in memory—
palms shivering above emerald lawns,
monsoon clouds tumbling in
to wring the sun from the Mule Mountains,
softening every hard edge
with the promise of rain.

I remember mesquite
clinging to the canyons,
roots digging deep as longing,
sunlight filtering down
through cottonwood leaves—
all golden syllables and green undertones
in the half-light of memory.

If I am lucky in these dreams,
I return to Ramsey or Carr Canyon,
stand in the cool hush of shade
and watch hummingbirds—emerald, ruby-throated—
dart among the agave and lupine,
their wings whirring the air
into a prayer I never quite finish.

There are always the big bird spiders—
midnight black, slow as old regrets—
crossing the red earth
with all the shyness I know too well.
No poison, just presence,
just misunderstood gentleness
in a world too quick to judge.

But the sweetest part of my dreaming
is not the rain, nor the shimmer of hummingbird wings—
it is Nancy, my bright-eyed Nancy,
beside me in the shade,
her laughter rising above the chorus of cicadas,
our children—still small then—
racing ahead through the grass,
shouting at the first drops of rain,
gathering stones and memoriesby the handful.

For four beautiful years
the world was perfect—
just the four of us,
the hush of a canyon,
the promise of summer storms,
Nancy’s hand in mine
and the children’s laughter echoing off
mountains green with hope.

Now in Utah,
the world is dust and pale blue sky—
a far cry from those mountains
where rain fell like forgiveness,
where even the wind smelled green.

Yet some mornings,
when the clouds bunch over the Wasatch,
I taste that Arizona thunder on the air,
feel the weight of all I wanted—
lushness, wild mercy,
the gift of belonging
in a place, in a family,
in a moment that could not last.

Now Fort Huachuca lives
where longing lingers—
in the slow drift of clouds across Utah,
in the flash of a bird at the feeder,
in dreams that carry me
back to that mountain-framed promise
of green,of laughter,
of love still echoing
long after summer storms have gone.