A Plethora of Neighbors #25

My Private Place for Naturism #25

2017-09-04

I heard the rumble. The lightning must be around. Those dark grey skies may be seen outside the window to the east, but to be sure, naked and barefoot, I make my way outside and up the granite slope to observe. There is rain between the grand Catalina Mountains and me, and a sliver of a rainbow to the southeast.

I head back inside.

I rush around inside to gather my shoes when I hear the sound of rain. The monsoon is winding down, the rain less frequent. The weatherman tells of only 20% chances of showers. This is opportunity. I know that outside, this is a warm rain. I’ve seen it so many times before.

This time, as I first step outside my door, I am greeted by the first drops on my body. These are just a few drops, not a surge. I see the dark cloud in the distance. These drops have floated a long way.

I feel thunder. It seems to hover around my body rather than roll through a distant area. It’s like a long, long vibrational beat of a bass drum.

I make my pursuit into the desert, stopping to enjoy the vistas. To the east, the clouds are risen, separated from the Catalina Mountains, which have turned a deep burgundy in the sun’s setting. The sliver of rainbow still gives hope.

Suddenly, I am taken by the sight of the silver full moon hovering above those mountains and below clouds. Just rising, it glows huge. I’m reminded that this August is gone, and then I wonder if this full moon has anything to do with my feeling out of sorts. Perhaps things a will calm down as it passes in the next days.

Raise clouds, color the mountains blood burgundy and insert one huge silver moon

I see that the new neighbors are not at home constructing their new house. I decide to take the trail near there. It is graded and where I like to jog. Perhaps I’ll exercise. It feels so good to just take off running, abandoning all, naked and free to roam.

As I begin, I hear a disturbance to the right. It is a pair of javalina, two brother pigs scurry off for protection into the desert. I stop to watch these two old acquaintances and neighbors. They are from the pack that hangs out around Havarock.

I turn my head and to the left, I see a short distance away, on the hillside, a young buck. He has antlers just a bit taller than his elongated ears. He looks unusual. He is sporting a very tan colored coat, instead of the usual grey. It must be the season. He is more my color than deer. The local herd seldom gets a stranger in this territory. He is absolutely still, his side to me, gazing down. I stand and watch in wonder and respect. I raise my hands and send my love. I watch maybe two or three minutes. I think of an alternative route to not disturb him.

Another Buck on Another Day

I soon walk away from the deer, into the desert to the east. There is no trail. By carefully bending my nude body around the catchy growth, I’m bushwhacking without the whack. A cat claw acacia grabs my finger as I push it aside to pass. It rips me like a needle toothed puppy.

I stand exposed to the entire valley of Tucson below, yet no one knows I’m here nude, but me. They are all just too far away.

I make my way down into the wash that I used to love to walk through before the construction began. I begin my exploration of the changes. Nobody is using this place now. There are only animal tracks.

A hawk sits on top of a distant saguaro and then flies away over my head. It squawks that nasty sounding  tune that they sing.

I make my way upstream to where there were swarming bees. That was last time that I was here. They nested in the bigger rocks, where a waterfall happens in the hard rains. I entertain myself, climbing on the rock surfaces. I watch the colors of the sun setting, I remember days past.

The monsoon rains have washed away much of the sand this year. A few years back, there had been a harder winter rain, which had filled his wash with eroding sands.  I could walk most of the length of it barefoot all over like a sandy sidewalk. Today, more often than not, I exercise my feet on granite bedrock. One day, it will rain hard and again wash the newly eroded particles of sand off of the hillside, covering the rocks.

I stop to greet a young friend, a desert tortoise in my path. It is cautious. I tell it how delighted that I am to see a young traveler. My old elder friend who has passed through my yard may times through 20 years, was found dead a couple of weeks ago. He just appeared to have stopped moving. My heart was broken.

I continue down and out of the wash onto the dirt road, an old jeep trail, which is now a bladed drive for the new construction and the lots for sale.

This road through a future neighborhood of five acre estates leads to the old Muggenthaler ranch. The old gates, corrals and wind mill are still there. I hadn’t been this way in quite a while. As I come over the ridge, I observe that someone has reconstructed the old place and a window views down the trail at me.

I turn around, only to discover yet another similarly aged tortoise. A greeting and another long look at the sunset colors in the massive clouds, and I’m heading home. The very eventful walk is much appreciated. There have been so many displays of the blessings of nature in such a short time.

Always, when I leave my camera behind.