Palm Desert
In Palm Desert, the sizzling sounds of the cicadas interrupt the silent heat of the day.
At the oasis, young palm trees sway in the warm breeze,
Resembling maidens wearing grass skirts.
The stately older palms stand stout and sturdy, like matrons,
sheltering new sprouts of baby palms, peeking out from under their palm leaf skirts.
Dusk falls and geese glide down onto the surface of the pond to spend the night.
As the pastel sunset skies subtlety mute to a pale lavender tint,
the San Jacinto Mountains dim from view.
Soon the brilliant stars will emerge from the crisp desert night skies
and will envelope us, in our peaceful slumber.
An excerpt from Where the Red Tailed Hawk Flies
Copyright ©2004 by Gabriella Graham/Red Tailed Hawk Publishing
In Palm Desert, the sizzling sounds of the cicadas interrupt the silent heat of the day.
At the oasis, young palm trees sway in the warm breeze,
Resembling maidens wearing grass skirts.
The stately older palms stand stout and sturdy, like matrons,
sheltering new sprouts of baby palms, peeking out from under their palm leaf skirts.
Dusk falls and geese glide down onto the surface of the pond to spend the night.
As the pastel sunset skies subtlety mute to a pale lavender tint,
the San Jacinto Mountains dim from view.
Soon the brilliant stars will emerge from the crisp desert night skies
and will envelope us, in our peaceful slumber.
An excerpt from Where the Red Tailed Hawk Flies
Copyright ©2004 by Gabriella Graham/Red Tailed Hawk Publishing