Red Rocks and Scottish Crags

Red Rocks
Red Rocks

I am so used to riding in the desert – but what would it be like to bike in a damp place. Flagstaff can be cold, but it is rarely damp.

I rode in Sedona today, and it was a little cold with some wind. I thought of this video when I came across a section of trail that could only be done by hiking the bike (which is what I did) or bunny hopping up the segment.

The riding and the place in this film is stunning, breathtaking, and in some places, scary as shit.

Water Moon

Born on a Thursday #12

Water Moon/Earth Sun Eclipse

shroomIt’s all around now, blooming in the air,

spores,

hanging like fruit,  like gnats.

Exhale—

dandelion.

Make a wish.

Slow drip swallowed.   Clay and cellulose — news of plumes.

A coughing of black blossoms.

Sunbaked and Peeling


This is how my skin feels if I don’t reapply my sunscreen throughout the day up in the desert mountains. Flagstaff, AZ.

Seriously, this visage is haunting. It is the first time I noticed it, too, maybe because the leaves are beginning to fall, so now it is not so hidden. Considering the fight over the San Francisco Peaks and the tradition of bigotry against the indigenous people of this region—and that tradition is going strong—haunting is appropriate.

Winter is Coming

It can’t rain all day in the desert, can it?

Sure it can – and it can be cold, too! Flagstaff is at 7000 feet – it gets cold here. Leaves are turning yellow already, too. In this photo the yellow leaves are scattered on the ground from the rain.

It seems early, but maybe I am used to the desert weather in the valley.

I didn’t bring enough warm clothes with me this week! Wish me luck on my job hunt . . . I’d like to start grooving in Phoenix full-time – though I have had an interesting discussion tonight with my friend Linda and an Apache history lesson (which will resume tomorrow).

Desert Night Light

 

This is a side of the hipster hotel The Clarendon. It’s a swinging place with early 60s decor (like my building and lots of buildings in the neighborhood), a huge swimming pool, and a lounge.

On Mondays, people from the neighborhood can come to the hotel and swim in the pool for free—otherwise you have to be a guest or it’s ten bucks. A smart way to bring more guests to their restaurant/lounge on an otherwise dead night!

I went for a stroll tonight—the weather is gorgeous, breezy and not that hot. I’ll be heading north tomorrow to go back to work. (I’d really like to call a place home—send me good vibes on the job front here in Phoenix. I need work here so I can eat and pay rent while I am in one place long enough to set up practice and to make art. Currently I drive to Flagstaff to work at NAU while I am staying in Camp Verde—I try not to think about it too much, otherwise, it wears on my psyche. Yoga and healing arts and creative work is all sort of halted—except for this, I suppose . . . )

The blooming yucca against the light caught my eye. The lights change color every ten seconds or so – sort of like a colored fountain effect without the fountain.

 

Desert Condo Bungalow

 

 

The Swinging 70s outdoor lobby of the building where I’ve been slowly moving for my new home, complete with Yin Yang Kokopelli Sun wall hanging and plastic plant.

I love it in a sick way.

Groovy.

Plans


Desert sky through an arbor after a monsoon.

© Holly Troy

I smell the world

I Smell the World (1st draft – from Writing the Energetic Body™ prompt)

I climb the hill up the road from my house and look over mountains and valleys in every direction. The air is good.

Pinon pine, sage, the cool wind, clay of the earth after rain. Clean, sweet. Each step I take a new mix of scents. My lover, his hair, the warm smell of his skin, the heat of his touch. I drink him in.

I drink the world in.

Wood smoke, horse dung, creosote.

I can still smell the Lower East Side at 4:30 in the morning. A mixture of possibilities and loneliness, tar and brick, constant clash of humanity and inhumanity. Silence peace violence tenderness brutality. Sweet kisses on one corner, a split lip on the next. Armpit waft of bars in the early morning air, pavement, and the bloom of morning dew.

How do I smell the world? I’m a butterfly finding the perfect flower, tasting drinking tasting. I’ve emerged from a tight cocoon. I can hardly believe I wound myself up! Constricted, almost suffocating. I’ve emerged with wings I will not fold for anyone. That’s the way it has to be; I have to be.

When I brush against you, I leave the powder of my existence on your sleeve, your finger.

flowers in unlikely places