SandScript 2021

order, as usual.
I can hear complacency purring
sweet nothings in my head. “You know
it doesn’t have to be such a long run.
You’ve already exercised for 15 minutes
and that’s better than most people get.”
“If you listen to that, you’ll end up
being a can of Crisco with legs.” My pride
strokes my self-image. My masculinity
barks like an alpha. I ponder when I let a
part of myself become so militant.
I begin my run toward the west. I
know my grandfather always required
that I run toward the east before the
sun rose to greet Dawn Boy and Dawn
Girl as I ran. White Body comes from the
east and we hail White Body by shouting
as we start our run. White Body showed
patience and understanding when he
explained to The People how to cleanse
their bodies in preparation for prayer.
White Body translated the Holy People’s
speech so The People could understand.
I pray for forgiveness for starting my run so
late in the day and going in the opposite
direction. I shout, trying to keep within my
grandfather’s teaching and I talk myself
into believing that since my neighbors
live east of me, the holy people will
understand.
The sky is cloudy and the
temperature is very nice, hovering
between 70 F and 75 F in the afternoon.
I run in loose dirt and sparse high desert
vegetation. I see only one saltbush. They
are few and far between, although
they used to proliferate along my route.
I run past sand sagebrush, also fewer in
number, but it is a hardy plant that has
some spiritual qualities. Its smoke carries
one’s prayers and its ashes can act as a
form of protection. It is also a medicinal
plant when used appropriately. There is an
occasional plant called Mormon tea, with
its green, straw-like foliage, which makes
a tea that tastes similar to orange pekoe. I
see Navajo tea with its yellow flowers and
remember sipping it while my dad would
drink his morning coffee. Navajo tea is
quite similar to Oolong tea; the color and
flavor are the same. I remember adding
honey to my tea and sitting like my father,
sipping my tea whenever he sipped his
coffee. I pass yucca, displaying its wide,
knife-like bladed leaves, which makes a
great soap if you know how to use it. My
grandparents taught me about these
plants so I notice them.
Melancholy swells within me at the
scarcity of vegetation, yet it is a very nice
afternoon for a run. My complacency
places an image of a warm blanket and
a nice fire in my mind offering up comfort
while it softly breathes, “That hot tea
sounds heavenly. It isn’t like you follow
your belly through a door.”
My knuckle dragging masculinity
chuckles at the notion. “I can hear you
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