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Evolution
The desert shrubs outside my window -- gray-
brushed-green-limbed tiny-leaved mesquite,
today ungainly, squat, a haven for the rabbits and
the quail -- will soon become unconquerable
trees with their ability to thrive in all extremes, from
paralyzing winter freeze to unrelenting summer
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| Velvet mesquite tree at Tumacácori Mission — National Park Service |
heat. Why, even in July they blithely point their
lacy fingers toward the sky. Do they defy or have
they simply learned to love the midday sun?
The ground seems inhospitable, but they persist.
Their roots find nourishment enough, whatever
water might exist and minerals secreted in the
sandy surface, the caliche, and the stores that must
lie hidden deeper still. And not by will or work but
gentle evolution did they gradually adapt here
over who knows what great span of years --
millennia, perhaps.
But I was only recently transplanted and I haven't
quite that long to make my roots secure. So I
look elsewhere for a cure for my fragility so as
to strengthen my enfeebled hold upon the earth,
relying on the certain grace of God and kindly
friends to tend my bruised and battered spirit
blinded by the dust and nearly toppled by the
searing winds.
