When You Live With a Dual Reality

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When the sun peaked through after five days of rain, my husband and I scrapped our lengthy to-do lists, and headed to the Superstition Mountains for a morning of hiking.

Water in the desert is a rarity. 

Mollie, our rust-colored terrier/retriever, was already whining for adventure as we parked our Toyota Highlander at the First Water Trailhead. Her tail was a thumping metronome as I zipped up my raincoat and checked the laces of my hiking boots, having left my normal trail-running shoes at home. I hate hiking with wet feet.

We stepped from our vehicle into falling mist. The air breathed moisture.

We hiked up several ridgelines, through mesquite and jojoba. A red-tailed hawk circled us momentarily before deciding Mollie, a thirty-pound fur ball, was too large for a meal. Mollie, unconcerned, immersed herself in a six-foot puddle that swallowed the entire trail. She lapped muddy water with smiley eyes, content to be soaking wet all afternoon.

The trail dipped into a wash and we boulder-hopped across the running water, enjoying the rare occasion where the dry wash lived up to its surname. Most of the year we only experience the first naming.

Dry. As in Dry as Dust. Dust on leaves. Dust on the trail. Dust in our lungs.

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Hey local peeps! Check out this Cancer Story Writing Workshop coming up on March 27!

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Keys to Listening to a Sickness Story