This desert bloom

I met a woman on the edge of the desert once. I parked my car and walked through the town to meet her where we had decided. My hands were trembling. When I turned the last corner, I saw her first, her red hair glowing in the wind like dark rubies. I didn’t really know her yet, but I knew that I loved her. I walked the last steps and all details became a blur. I heard a busker play “Home” by Edward Sharpe on an old guitar. It was so cliché I started to laugh. Then she saw me and we fell into a long embrace. “What do we do now?”, she said and I kissed her. We jumped into my rental car and drove to the Ace Hotel in Palm Springs. The breeze was warmer than it should be for a day in January and when we sat down, she started talking and I remember thinking I could listen to her all night, her voice the most familiar melody. Two years later we got married in our living room, our son was about to turn one. We had bought rings for $15 from a street vendor on South Congress Avenue. We’ve come back to Palm Springs many times since and to me it always feels like an oasis, an embrace on a cold day, a place where love can flourish.