Past the Coyote Den

Yesterday was such a lovely day — cool temperatures, warm sun — that I decided to ramble in the desert. A friend who’d seen one of my previous posts told me about a place where water, perhaps from the Mojave River, had made its way to the surface, and I wanted to see this miracle. Supposedly, a few cactus grow around the guzzler, so I figured I shouldn’t have trouble finding a spot of green in all that taupe. Since I didn’t like the sound of her directions — go past the coyote den, and then leave the trail and climb a snake-infested hill — I decided the best thing was to ascend the highest hill and search for anything growing.

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All I found were a few scrawny creosote bushes and gorgeous views.

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And boulders. Lots of boulders.

I started to descend one hill, then stopped and looked around, enjoying the solitude, and I saw a sign that stunned me.

Can’t read the sign? Here is a blow-up.

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Active firing range? Yikes. I knew the gun club was far below me — I’d been there a couple of times to participate in their Women on Target program, and besides, I could often hear the pop of guns when I was out roaming the desert — but I didn’t know it could be dangerous so high up. I scurried on down the path away from the sign and up to another hilltop where I had a good view of the desert across the street from where I’ve been staying. Although the knoll looks like an elongated pyramid from this view, from where I sit at the moment, it looks like a lot of rocks and jagged peaks.

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Since the hardest part of my recent hikes have been the mile-long return trip on city streets, I decided to pick my way around a gated community (the houses the far left of the pyramid photo toward the bottom), across the pyramid, and then down. There wasn’t a path as such — mostly I had to make my own trail through bushes and over rocks. (Not something I would ever do in snake season!) But I did manage to escape that long tarmac trek. When I exited the desert I simply walked across the street and up the driveway.

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Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels UnfinishedMadame ZeeZee’s Nightmare, Light BringerMore Deaths Than OneA Spark of Heavenly Fireand Daughter Am IBertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

First the Rainbow, then the Rain

This place where I landed all unwittingly (I came to look after my elderly father) is a strange upside-down and backwards place. The Mojave River, which runs through the town is upside down because the water flows below ground under the sand. (When we walk along the river, all we see is a dry riverbed unless there has been a rare heavy rain.) The river is also backward because instead of flowing to toward the ocean, the river flows inland, terminating in the middle of the desert.

Last night I experienced another example of this backwardness. Usually, rain comes first, and then the rainbow to show. . . whatever it is that rainbows are supposed to show besides a lovely atmospheric condition. But last night, the rainbow came first, a perfect arc that spanned the sky, with a shadow rainbow off to one side.

Hours after the double rainbow had faded, the rains came, soft and refreshing.

A new beginning, perhaps.

Double Rainbow

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Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.