Desert Hawk

“Baby, sing it with me… You the lyrics, and I’ll hum the melody…”

You open those eyes. Naturally, you look up, to feel yourself laying down, face towards the sky. You have no idea how you arrived here, or as to what brought you here, but the desert so vast stretches in infinite miles all around you. So vast, yet silence so profound, enough to unmute the subtle breeze grazing the delicate weeds rooted in the cracks of the dry soil bed. A sense of magic exists here in a way you have never deemed possible. You rise to your feet, as if gravity itself pulled you up. From up to circular motion, you peer around you, and observe the absence of what you recalled so well once before–the existence of a reality you once knew. You think to yourself, for a moment, in that moment, that here you were absolutely alone. 

Walking the vast desert, you take towards the infinite miles of the horizon. You knew that’s where you wanted to be. Famish, thirst, weakness all come over as the sun beats down from above. The desert is a harsh place for those who wander mindlessly. You can’t help but feel placed in a reality so far from what felt familiar–back on a swing built by your father, hanging from the large oak tree in your backyard, you watch your younger siblings running about around you, as they played their childhood games, so young, so free. You swing to and fro in motion; the crack of the kitchen window releases an essence of mother’s homemade scones as the aroma in the breeze wraps around your nose. Your father accompanies your mother in the kitchen. They present pure happiness. You can tell. This warms your heart to see. However, you’re in your own little world on your swing; no one around you is a part of this world, but yet, everyone around you, your siblings, mother, father, are your reminder that you are a part of something bigger. They humble you and bring you a sense of belonging. You seek them. You need them–the desert presents itself in majestic beauty, as you snap back to the reality that is current. The aroma of the fresh-made scones still remains wrapped around your freshly sunburnt nose. 

A shadow casted on the desert floor reflects what’s above. Flying overhead, you look to see a desert hawk gliding in a light flight, from time to time crossing the beams of light from the sun as the desert hawk’s shadow mimics on the ground below. You put yourself there with him, airborne and light, freedom in flight, and this brings you some life–your father pushes you higher and higher on that backyard swing, as you close your eyes to embrace the innocence of featherweight. The freeness of that feeling stays with you, as you notice the hawk above once more. You shed a tear in this moment with this memory of a life once before. Alone you are, and you begin to feel this in complete absolution. But a sense tells you that you are meant to be here. The desert is more than what it presents. It’s glowing, breathing, and alive, in movement, but to you, it’s still just two things here: the absent desert and you. The hawk flies away, disappearing into the distance. 

You take towards the infinite miles of the horizon. 

You stumble on your sudden startled step. In a desert bush ahead, you hear some rustling behind it, so, curious, you approach. You look, and find yourself peering down at another–it was your curiosity that found him there. He introduces himself, “Hello. Name’s Theodore. What’s yours?” You can’t help but feel reminded of someone, as if he was someone familiar–you leave his question for your name unanswered with the sheer baffling feeling of having met him before. He grabs you by your hand, “Come, friend.”

The desert seems tamer. The sun warms the path you two walk upon, casting fading shadows of the past behind. “Who am I, and where am I? When the sun goes down, will this all be of a faint, illusory memory, or is this real?”, you think to yourself. He begins singing a familiar song, and you break thought to sing along. This desert has a grip on you, and you can’t seem to make sense of it. The delicate wind pushes you two towards the forever horizon. He takes steps like a dance, and you follow his groove. Dancing with the desert wind as nightfall approaches, the sand at those feet stir up an uproar of melodic clouds–like the desert hawk, this too gives you a bit of life and peace. You peer at this being next to you. He is a complete stranger you had just moments ago met, but under the setting sun, you two dance the day away. Unlike you to do, but it feels right and unblemished. You feel a sense of self, and he brought this out of you. The sun sets a rainbowed sky as it says its last goodbye. In the dark, the horizon fades, but step by dancing step, you two proceed forth. The remaining day ticks away to the rhythm of the dance of two. 

You wake up and hear your mother calling for you, “My dear, join in with us downstairs–I’ve prepared us all breakfast.” The slippers on your feet remind you of the Christmas before, when your parents gifted you them. Such a lovely Christmas as you remember. And the dog sitting alongside your bed that very morning, he licks your hand as you pet him good morning. “Hun, will you be joining us? Breakfast is ready.” That morning was like any other–the warmth of your family around the table, breakfast plated all across in front of you, your siblings giggling in excitement as the pancakes stack higher on their plates, and your father looks at you. He smiles with your presence, opens his mouth as if ready to word something to you. “My dear...” You awake once more to the bright morning sun beating down on your leathered face. Desert dust dresses you. You open your eyes fully, and look up.The desert so vast stretches in infinite miles all around you. You recall your friend from the day before, and look around once more to see just two things: the absent desert and you. The tears from your eyes confuse you: are they from the last few words of father left unknown or from realizing you just lost a friend? You gather yourself with all remaining fortitude, stand tall, and proceed toward the horizon. The tears on your cheek drip down to generate the only oasis the desert has yet to offer. The desert is a harsh place for those who wander mindlessly. 

You can’t help but feel lost in those last remaining moments with your family at the breakfast table–those words spoken by your father, they remain on your tongue, as if ready to roll off in a sure, complete sentence. You proceed, wondering, wandering. You have the slightest idea as to where this desert is taking you, but you begin to let it.  You recall how tame the desert felt with your friend. You let it take you with a subtle trust. “What makes this desert any more different now?”, you think to yourself. It’s this hint of trust that gives you the slightest sense of hope. This provides ease to the battle between you and the beating sun: a fight you know can’t be won, so to accept its victory over you provides the necessary comfort. Your bond with the desert grows. 

Your stomach’s growl carries with the desert breeze, and echoes into the infinite forth on. Each step forth, and the horizon seems to shift a step back. The simple question, “How am I going to ever reach the horizon?” seems to set it back a few steps more. The horizon begins to grow faint in your vision, until “I… feel… strange”, it’s no longer. 

“Baby, you know it. Sing it with me this time. You the lyrics, and I’ll hum the melody.” You open your mouth to gasp for the air you’re in dire need of, and awaken to realize the lyrics were never actually sung. However, you hear it. The melody is being hummed, but it’s not your mother’s voice you hear. “Oh, hello again my friend! Didn’t mean to wake you.” Theodore proceeds to hum the familiar melody as he picks up something left on the desert floor next to you. “What a delicious scone we have here.” The same desert hawk from before flying away in the distance. You wish you could have acknowledged its presence before it vanished into desert shadows. “Eat my friend, while it’s still fresh. You look starved.” Theodore helps you to your feet–his grasp gives you life, just like before. “What is it about this little guy? Why is he here?” You think of any reason that makes sense, but thoughts are flying away from your mind in literal butterfly formation. Theodore gets a good laugh at this as he watches these butterflies flutter around. “Silly you, you will lose your step with so many butterflies around you.” You take your first bite of the scone. You can hear mother calling your name from the horizon, faintly dissipating with each passing moment. 

“Hey there, friend. Do you know why you're here?” 

Theodore looks up at you in question. “Why do you fear the desert, my friend? Why do you fight its being?” 

You hear his questions, but ignore.  The bite of the scone brings you comfort.

"You can't ignore these things right in front of you. You can't ignore them forever."

The desert mood changes. Desert winds begin to spiral, formulating in tornado-like structure in all directions like a line of soldiers ready to engage. From thought to present, you look to see Theodore. Wearing a Cheshire grin, he's airborne, gripped by a powerful gust, then he’s gone. You’re now alone, and this desert is vicious. From light to dismal, storm clouds come moving in. They're heavy. The winds sprawl up–“My dear! Come back!” Whistling around you are these words, haunting, ringing from ear to ear.  A strong gust picks you up. Swinging you to and fro in the air, you begin to panic. No friend to call upon–“Why does he always leave when I need him the most?” You try to fight the grip of the wind, but there is no beating mother nature’s grasp. With a sudden jolt, you’re catapulted vertically into the darkness of the clouds above. In seconds, the nature of the desert has overcome you. 

“My dear…come back…

My dear…”

The wind releases grasp. Down on the ground you lay, overcome, hurt, defeated. This desert no longer feels safe to you. You fall into a spell of heavy tears running down your face. “I no longer want to be in this place. I am so alone, so afraid.” The tears continue down your face–a puddle of tears presents your reflection. Peering back are eyes full of fear. "I no longer know who she is." From above, the sky fades a darker shade of black; rain pouring down like it has never, masking the desert floor, inch by inch. “I need to find safety. I need to go!” Running away from all that felt unsafe–You recall running this fast before.  Proceeding, you look back at what used to be so familiar –the desert behind you covered in rainfall, tears, memories, disappearing every step you take forth. Ahead, a mountain forms. “Why am I just seeing this mountain for the first time?” You make your way straight for it, as you know it would provide the needed elevation over the storm clouds. You begin the climb. Still in full tears, overwhelm, fear, and a new feeling of anxiety overtake your being. Breathless, exhausted, weak, you continue the climb. The darkness of the sky blankets the desert behind you. The rain has now become the desert floor. You would’ve never survived if you didn’t take action towards change. Here you now stand, atop of this mountain, with fleeting breaths leaving your mouth. “Friend! You made it.” You catch a fading glimpse of Theodore atop that mountain with you. You then collapse with exhaustion.

“I was once your age, my dear.” Father looks down at the younger you, as he sits bedside that evening. You’re cuddled up in your bedtime sheets. “And I see it my dear, you fall into spells of worry, of fear. You’re such a child, so young, so free. Don’t you worry. Life will take you places, places only you will know. Of course, enjoy those places, but for only so long. Learn this much from me–these moments are forever fleeting. Learn to be here, with yourself, with your loved ones, with this moment, before they’re forever gone” Your sleepy eyes close, with the comforting smile of father as your last memory of that day.

You open those eyes. A gift to you, you see a new day. The sky is bright again, clear again, as you peer up. Like your first day in this desert, you rise to your feet, but with your own strength this time. From up to circular motion, you see yourself still atop of this mountain. This mountain saved you. This mountain provided for you. You peer behind and towards the view below–there stood the desert you were once a part of; it presented in the purest of forms now. The rain from the night before cleansed it of its impurities, its stronghold, its ability to take you, and it took you. You take a moment to thank it for what it gave forth. The sky above, clear of a single blemish. You feel renewed. This breath you take is new. A profound sense of presence brings slight discomfort, but a consoling lightness and calm. The last of your tears roll down your cheeks, and the calm breeze takes them with grace as it passes across your face once more. You can’t help but feel attached to the desert, as you peer down once more. This place was you, or once a part of you, or always having existed within you. The desert hawk is seen soaring at cloud height over the desert. You follow his natural flow from your position above him. His flight has always brought you so much peace.

“My dear… so nice to have you back.” Father’s smile warms you. Your mother sings the melody of the familiar song Theodore once sang with you, as you recall the dance of two towards the horizon. The peace of being back with them carries in your shaky voice of, for so long, missing them. You join your mother in melody. Your siblings sit across from you at the dinner table, with their ever-comforting child-like innocence. “Sister, where’d you go?” Your last memory of them was from the backyard with you upon that swing. “Dad, I heard you. Mother, I heard you.” Interrupted by the chime of the alarm, as mother’s scones finished in the oven. “You have always been such a wanderer my dear,” father intervenes. “You’ve grown so much. When you were younger, you’d disappear into whatever place felt right for you. We loved watching it. We never worried though, as you would always find your way back.” “Honey, remind me. What was that friend of hers she would always describe visiting in these little worlds?” your mother asks. “Oh! Theodore wasn’t it? We always believed he was your little inner consciousness guiding you back to us.”

You close your eyes once more, to appreciate this moment, everything about it, being home–the desert so vast stretches in infinite miles all around you. The desert hawk glides in a light flight above. You put yourself there with him, airborne and light, freedom in flight, and this brings you some life. You recall, the desert is a harsh place for those who wander mindlessly. But one thing is different about this desert around you–the horizon moves toward you now, closer than ever before.