I was standing at an intersection,
watching the sun set below Granite Mountain.
Between the mountain and where I stood were cars,
drivers immersed in isolated and insulating lives,
submerged in the cold hard human world,
unable to gently merge with the dying day.
I was thinking that humankind Is a scar on the earth that does not heal,
a malignant tumor that does not stop growing.
Reflecting in this way,
immersed in isolated and insulating thought,
submerged in my own cold, hard, all-too-human judgments,
I turned to see a young mother about my age
walking on the other side of the street with young two daughters.
I watched as the older girl tore a piece of bread
and gave half of it to her little sister,
who beamed with all the light and wonder of a desert sunrise,
and gave her sister a warm soft soulful embrace.
I watched as one light changed and another died,
watched as the two girls crossed the street together,
their hands gently merged.