Haibun: Of Value

Walking through the curated desert, often park rangers will leave a dead cactus or ocotillo to rot where it is. In the death of the ocotillo, a whole ecosystem rises up around it. If I were to lift any part of it, I may find different insects underneath or maybe some kinds of worms. There’s a certain poetry to life springing up where decay is underway. 

I wish I was this resilient. When things are taken from me, I wish life sprang up like the insects of the desert. Instead, I fight what or who is doing the taking, even when I am powerless to change a thing. I’m left exhausted and depressed, I’m left a dead ocotillo but without any value to the cycle of life. 

dead ocotillo

now just the shade of shadows

in this winter sun