Ice crystals on agave, air so clear it sparkles, grass, green moist grass, under the gnarled mesquite, vermilion flycatchers on the railing of the bike path, blue panels of mountains on the horizon, light coming in low through the windows, citrus colors lighting the clouds and sky, vapor rising off a hot cup of coffee held in a gloved hand, numb toes and red cheeks as the bike rolls through a town still sleeping. You get up early, well before the sun, and wander along the wash in the darkness. You think of friends who are gone and friends who are sick and about to leave, and you think of the courage all of the desert creatures have when they get up and enter the food chain in search of life-giving water and sustenance. This is the rarest of ephemeral beauty and you have learned to see it for what it is. All of this, the gem of winter in the desert, a passing moment so rich it breaks your cold and tired heart. You take one step and another as you hone the razor edge of peace right here and right now and let all else fall away.
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