I heart Deserts!

I heart deserts. OK, I also heart desserts, but only really sour ones involving the words: lemon, rhubarb, pie, square, berry, or mango. Oh and occasionally involving the words cheesecake, caramel, or mini madeline. Oh and that never involve the words float, chocolate, ice cream, cold, or high fructose corn syrup. But this is not about that.

This about deserts. I heart getting cold when it dips to 80 degrees at night. I heart coyotes at night. I heart funny looking trees and technicolor glowing sunsets and warm sunrises. I heart feeling vaguely dusty all day. I heart drinking water that goes in but never seems to come out.

I heart funnily decorated diners and fake cherries and whipped cream on margaritas and neighboring tables who between bites tell graphic stories about accidentally slicing off parts of their fingers while working in yards. I heart finding hidden fabulous Korean food and videostore personnel who've never heard of Shortbus and lifelong local trailer-community dwellers who live 25 miles from Joshua Tree and wonder if that is another trailer-community when asked for direction clarification.

I heart waking up to wind rattling everything and complaining about the heat and reading lazily all day. I heart that I still have to squint to see what is meant by "blooming."

I heart Joshua Tree wanderings, oasis findings, rock climbings, boulder sittings, dust nappying, accompanied by youth and adults I adore. And after some of that,

I heart clothing optional "resorts" (read: medium tepid and small hot pool, both warmed with minerals, and I don't mean the pee kind) accompanied by just adults (thanks) that I adore.

[I am less thrilled with the preponderance of mini-peni that hang out at the clothing option resorts, even tiny establishments, but this is not about tepid reality. This is about heart.]

And ten days of all that? I heart it. And it simply is not enough. Bless you, Spring Break.