Vicissitudes

I saw a couple of toads squished into the blacktop road this morning on my walk. Poor little toadies. They must have tried to get across in the nighttime while it was cool to get quenched under an elite resident’s lawn sprinkler system – and instead they met their demise under a tire. I said my possibly meaningless prayers – but prayers just the same for them and kept walking. I was almost blinded by the beauty of the bright purple and red bougainvillea under the early morning sun. Some of the plants and flowers were still shaded by the santa rosa mountains and I walked up to a cactus that had it’s little blooms bunched up like a fist and bent over to converse.

‘And when do you show your full beauty?’ I asked.

‘When the sun hits, silly. Maybe on your way back, the rays will be upon me and I can mesmerize you with my pale pink and yellow magnificence’.

‘Yes, thank you, I said. I hope to be able to stop and admire your blooms.

Two big black crows flew past, cawing. Maybe they overheard.

‘Look at that human, talking to the cactus. What a joke. Can he really understand?’

I lifted my head and cawed back at them.

‘I understand some things, my crow friends..’

‘Okay mister sensitive…’ they cawed again like they were laughing and flapped away over the golf course.

It grew hotter as I got to the cul de sac, where I turn around and head back to work. A bit of sweat trickled down my brow. Was it dread or was it heat? It will be 105 degrees out here today in Indian Wells and I need my morning walks in mother nature to soothe the pain of walking back into the house of alcohol doom. There has been a slight miracle turn for the better though; after days and days of negotiations with the demons inside him, my Guy waved a temporary flag of surrender and is three days into a detox. It has been brutal with, screams, shakes, shivers and jet propelled vomiting, albeit we have done this harrowing battle of the body before. He has all the required meds, knows how and when to take them - and he seems determined. I pray if he makes it through this time, he will never, never, never want to drink again. But expectation is a no, no – with this beast of a man. No matter what the vicissitudes of life he undergoes, it seems he has an internal, etch-a-sketch, that erases any memories of how he horrifyingly pushes himself towards deaths door – and within weeks-time, he is back at the door; knocking, knocking, knocking. Still, I do pray this time will be different -