Last month, I went to Palm Springs and Joshua Tree. It was a surrealist dreamscape with furry trees that twist into whatever shape their little tree hearts desire.
You have to admire anything that survives in the desert.
I hiked to 49 Palms, a three-mile trail to a lush green oasis amid beige and burnt-orange rock, sage and brush.
I had never seen a real oasis.
The trees clustered like a family; the way they were looking at us reminded me of meer cats. It’s magical, because even though you expect to see them (it is called 49 Palms Hike after all), you feel like it’s never going to happen.
You walk and walk and just when your walk turns into an exasperated trudge, just when you never expect to see green again, the trees appear.
I know there’s a lot of metaphors in there about stressful situations, about finding peace in troubled time, about relief and journeys.
But it’s currently 1:03 am and I am tired. So I am saying it in photos: