Traffic cone orange was my first favorite color.

As a kid, I always ran out of the orange crayola first.

Stealing my brother’s peach crayon was my first ritual. 

How was I to know this would lead me to live in a slickrock desert with cliffs the colors of my beloved crayons.

I am a desert queen, calloused and curious.

I walk with the wisdom of a barren landscape, dotted with life.

I walk with a heart full of hope.

The tangerine canyon walls know patience, as do I.

We wait for water with our toes buried in the salmon sand, without worry.

I have weathered months of quiet solitude in the desert as if it were my duty

to the little girl who smashed orange crayons into paper.

That girl who knew nothing of native orange.

That girl who thought her favorite color could only be found

on highways when the road workers came to town.

That little girl is here with me now in the open desert

with towering apricot cliffs sprawled out in every direction.

We belly laugh at the globe mallows glistening.

We giggle at the rocks the size of buildings-

all a wildly bright orange against the gentle blue sky.

We are as soft as the setting sun’s glow.

Held by the coral cliffs, we bow our heads in thanks.

Gathering sand in our hands,

we cover our legs in a blanket of earth.

Resting our heads against the sun kissed rocks,

we lay awake, fighting sleep.

Not wanting to miss a second

of this show of traffic cone orange.