Mojave Ghost

I have a few fragrances, all gifts of course. Friends of my family who visited and brought them back. Maybe some strings were pulled, if I want to flatter myself. And maybe someday I'll write about all of them, but this is the one I love the most. Every time I go to write about the others, my mind comes back to this one.

I'm a little surprised that they gave it to me. Usually they give me elaborate things to keep me fascinated; maybe this was something different to the same effect. The bottle is simple and when I first saw it, it didn't spark my interest, but I appreciate its elegance now. It reminds me of how many different kinds of styles and preferences and people are on earth. I also appreciate the way its understated, almost blank, label and the clarity of the glass and the liquid inside let my imagination paint over it. And it does.

When I was young I would wander far from my home. Sometimes I'd squeeze through gates, scale concrete walls, or push through vines until I found somewhere to be alone.

Is undeveloped land rare now? I'm sure I was trespassing, but it didn't always feel like it. I remember stormy skies over sand, warm air swirling around me, loquats just out of reach. I saw micha-speckled rocks and thick chunks of quarts, tiny whiptails darting under them to escape sight.