Gratitude for the quail

            The river of stones begins
at the base of a desert palm,
                    splits to the right into a mist
of shade and stops.

Left carries on to its demise
                    dismounting at concrete block wall
upon wall – all boasting 90
degree angles.

             I don’t know what to make
of this valley – its rocks – its walls –
its days of fire and dust made

                    all the more curious
in its contempt
for mere flesh.

Quails know nothing of walls –
                    only tufts of native grasses,
cactus fruits, mesquite seeds
             and beetles.

            Moments of observing
                         their movements turn into hours.
Deep
gratitude for the quail awaking
             me to a desert wash – one of many arroyos
             on the valley’s fringe – wealthy
             with wildlife corridors
and bird song.

Thunder clouds
             suggest torrential rainstorms
             and danger. I pitch my tent
above the wash – a cathedral
among Palo Verde, Ocotillo
             and Saguaro. They said nothing – just

let me breath –
just like the quail.

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Susan Robbins is grateful to have found her poetic voice during a moment of stillness after decades of wandering. She is grateful, too, for three awards for her poetry from the Philadelphia Writers’ Conference and for publication of her poems in print and online. Susan is delighted to have founded and currently hosts a literary, music, theater, and visual arts cultural salon – created in the tradition of intimate, renowned cultural salons of the 17th- 20th centuries. (RhythmandVerseSalon.com) Susan earned her doctorate from Stanford University in educational research and evaluation. She is passionate about a thriving public education sector.