THE BLANK WALL by Penny Spicer

I stand in the doorway
The Catalinas fill my field of vision
They rise majestically skyward
Their huge bulk is swathed in green
My attention is diverted by the continuous whiz of cars
They go by on the ribbon of black
It bisects the land between me and the mountains
A music box sound takes me back to my childhood
The ice cream truck would come by producing my treasured 50-50 I stand inside looking out

The clouds begin to push against the mountain peaks
Soon great, white edged, black thunderheads foretell of a storm
It will dump its quarry on the thirsty desert
The full, nose-tingling aroma of the pre-rain desert fills my nostrils
A light overtone of the pungent smell of the horse corrals wafts by
The desert is preparing for rain

I look down the hillside
I see the Capillita
I reach down in my mind's eye and touch it
I feel the hardened adobes, rough yet flat, dusty yet solid
Then the thunder crashes, the lightening flashes
It seems that buckets have suddenly been kicked over
The adobes feel wet and slightly muddy
My fingers slide over the exterior of the adobes slipping in the mud
I touch the mud with my tongue
I taste dirt, wet dirt
I stick out my tongue and feel the wet drops of rain
The softness of the rain water caresses my tongue
The power of the drops rushing down to meet it sting

Suddenly, the door begins disappearing
I step back startled All there is in front of me is wall
No longer am I able to see or feel the rain
I can still hear it on the tin roof
No longer can I see the mountains, the desert, the Capillita
Only blank wall

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