Cacti Jungle

In Illinois, forests overgrow in green lush. In Arizona, deserts sprout millions of cacti, a succulent water supply for the hills and water life. When I say millions, I literally mean millions. Every where your eye can turn is a thick cacti forest, sprung into every possible patch of dusty mountain. A stunning site, it is hard to fathom without witness. And the mountains can be seen for 50 miles on, with layers of distance stacked behind the nearby terrain. And of course you are thinking of the saguaro cactus, the classic stigmata that you painted in art class or saw in old film. But the species of cactus in the desert are numerous. Almost every thing that grows in the desert is a type of cactus, as they have to fend for their own water supply and provide nourishment for various thirsty varmints.

Breathtaking allurement in every direction. A securement of solitude to know you are miles away from civilization.  A history book of ancient hieroglyphs in mountaintop. And rest and relaxation like a snoozing javelina.

Tuscon sequester

Tuscon,  the city where snowbirds fly to during winter months. Full of retirees in mobile homes, mostly of Republican mindset. There is an interesting clash and assimilation into the Mexican heritage of Tuscon. They enjoy the sun, the food, the clay buildings. But there is a sense of mild fear towards the unknown the crime, the surrounding poverty. Without personally experiencing any hardships, they live some prejudices, as simple as locking their car doors only in certain places. And they may not be wrong all the time, as homelessness or drug use will often be a motive to steal. But I sense the MAGA agenda growing as these worlds collide.
They come to retreat from society and they are met with a bit of culture shock of an Arizona city. And the sequester to a gated community of mobile homes.

Reflections of the airport

After a day or so, I realized I left put some airport gems. First of all, teenagers have retreated back to the 80s. A blonde Caucasian girl looked about 15 years old. Her hair was wavy, worn down but parted way over to make it swoop. She had a full denim outfit. The faded blue Jean jacket with a rainbow pin on the left pocket. Her blue jeans were tight but straight, not skinny, and cuffed at the bottom. She wore a white polo shirt under the jacket and white oval flat tennis shoes. And to top it off, she sported a scrunchie on each wrist! Then there was a teenage boy, maybe 16. He wore his hair medium length and somewhat unsettled. He wore a Bowie t-shirt and basically the same blue jeans as the girl, but in mens. Cuffed at the bottom and all. I am a 90s baby, so I just assumed we all agreed that the 80s styles were frowned upon and never to be repeated. I think we let them watch too many John Hughes movies.

Then there were the airport runners. While I sat there and drank that impeccable bloody mary, I noticed a runner every 3 to 5 minutes.

I recalled the time I was an airport runner. O'Hare is huge and sometimes you only have about a 20 minute layover, meaning they are already boarding your flight when you land. The anxiety of missing your flight seeps in and you run. Like the sports car that recklessly changes lanes on the interstate, you pick up your luggage and zoom in and around people and cross you fingers, hoping you make it.

Now back to the bloody mary. Out of peripheral vision you could spot one of these runners in existential dreams every few minutes, in full sprint. It made my 3 hour layover feel leisurely.