4 thoughts on “just the desert. and red ocotillo flowers.

  1. Ahh … I forget to do this way too often. One of my goals while there was to record the scents of both the flowers and the soil to include in my novel (to be out soon on that Amazon self-publishing-thing). I forgot the goal totally. But just standing there … sadly, I do not remember any scents.

      • Okay. I have to say, advice from America is that in the desert you can’t remember your name, and it’s disconcerting to lose your self-identity, so you kind of look about for it as you walk through the cacti and realize that your whole being is currently devoted not to the beauty of the sky or the colors that show briefly once a year or even your self-identity, but to the cactus needles in your legs you’ve managed to gather by wearing shorts on this little trip, and the amazement you have for these needles that have stuck into the hard rubber of your sneakers and the time you’ll be spending with pliers and tweezers removing them from both the rubber and flesh.
        The novel, a crime thriller, is written in a semi-humorous style, and is based around a detective and private investigator in Tucson who are caught in a vengeance-run, with kidnapping, assassination, bombings and other stuff. I figure the writing style and rather strange situations make it unique. A buddy-cop show on peyote.

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