What can YOU say in six sentences?
I love the smell of my own sweat, especially when mixed with horse and going on five days with no shower, love the smell of rain acomin' in the desert, the clover blooming in the creeks, a meal in the crock pot when I am tired, beer on his breath, homemade tortillas, bacon and coffee saying good morning, freshly turned earthworm, wild roses, libraries and bookstores.
I love the taste of Black Velvet on ice, tomatoes warm from the garden, white sauce, salt, caviar, goat cheese, fried potatoes with grated cheddar and ranch dressing and bacon bits, any food cooked and eaten out of doors when we are working hard, calf fries and cowboy cool beer halfway to being finished branding, rare steak, lettuce I grew myself, sushi with wasabi and soy sauce, pizza, shrimp, and garlic.
I love the feel of cool sheets in summer, wool in winter, his lips on my lonely spot, backing up to the fireplace, being a seal in the water, tired muscles from working hard, the weight of my book in my hand when my eyes are heavy with sleep.
I love the sight of dragonflies, rainbows, lizards, bats flying at dusk, the collages I make, installation art, his smile, blooms in the garden because they turn into food, pink penstemmon on the hillside, cows in the boulders, bear tracks in the dirt, and the top of the windmill at Willow Springs when we have been riding all day.
I love the sound of wind, fire, waterfalls, hummers' mating swoop, him noodling on the guitar while I take a hot bath, horses eating grain, ice in my glass, my children's voices, thunder growing nearer, bulls bellowing at each other, a zone-tailed hawk way up above.
I love that sixth sense, the instinctual knowing, the surge of rightness that comes from our mother, the earth, that beats in our own blood if we do not disconnect from her heartbeat.