Ten o’clock. Cool air spills down out of the sky like silk. Like it’s falling from the dark side of the half moon. Deep blue silk spangled with light, twinkling white, pink, red, green. Gemstones.

We’re having a hot spell, a little early for summer. Up into the 90’s today and to 100 on Saturday with little variation between now and then. It’s fire season. Twenty per cent humidity and hot. Fire weather.

It feels so good, this night-cool-fall. Down the hill the river still purls and ululates, showering its white noise up into the trees that thrive on its banks. Wearing down the rocks that create this sound. Paralleling the river, a ditch runs down from someplace high above carrying the irrigation water that makes this valley so rich with crops: wheat, fruit, vegetables. It’s a small diversion of the river’s icy fill, and we walk down there in the heat of the day, through the tall high scratchy grass, and sage, past the Service Berries into the cottonwoods to strip off our clothes and step into that fiery cold. It’s truly breathtaking. And to lie down in that flow that is just barely deep enough to cover us, deep enough for us to lengthen and float, if we’re not careful, out to where the ditch runs along the road, is almost enough to stop your heart. It’s a paradox. Through this high desert, icy water flows. After the searing heat of the day, cool night.

I’m resting in this. The way things contain each other. I’ve had the feeling recently that everything I encounter becomes digested just like food. It enters me with its particular feeling, sensation, flavor, and lingers until it’s absorbed and becomes part of me. Some of it falls away, and some of it nourishes what I am. I’m becoming all of it. There’s nothing that is not a part of me. Or of you. This can be a delicious knowing. Savor it.

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