On a walk the other day, I came upon a tall and spiny collection of individuals with light on their fingertips and ribs on their bodies. The atmosphere was electric; the ground, troublesome.
Although I greeted them with my customary “hello there,” and “how’s your day going?” they ignored me, choosing instead to pray to the One-Armed God at the top of the hill.
Otherworldly, they spent the day in a depression, looking for some color in their lives.
The One-Armed God capitulated to the Terrier God, who entered the blustery sky just in the nick of time.
With a little “woof” and a swirl of swift swells in the atmosphere, the prickly ones returned to color; the ground , too, obeyed. The jumping cholla began to laugh in the middle ground.
When the West Highland White Terrier left the sky, a small sign that said, “Worship me,” pushed up through the desert sand and dirt. Order was restored.
The Palo Verde and Mesquite trees bent to the bush who said, “Straighten up!”