By Bruno Talerico
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Not for the faint of heart—these savage placesaccessible only bywrong turns and scraped knees.Enchanted grottosand obscure oases existonly for the driven,the focused—persistingbeyond the point of annoyanceuntil others label them‘hard’ and ‘holy’.© 2025 Bruno TalericoStafford challenge 338/365.
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There are two ways to die in the desert:too little water and too much.Too little—Dehydration:head throbbing, tongue cracking,confusion—seizures, coma, death.Too much—Flash floods:semi-liquid mass made of mud,uprooted trees,skull-sized rocks and couch-sized bouldersbarreling downstream—a locomotive without brakes.The roar of a hundred lionsannounces the explosive debris flow,a ten-foot slurry—anything in its path:sand, trees, boots, backpacks—launched downstream.A dry creek…
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There are many thingsI’ve worried aboutthat didn’t come to pass,like flunking out of college,or nuclear winter.There are a few thingsI never gave any thought tothat landed like a kick in the gut,left me gasping for air,like that frantic 5 a.m. call—“Joe’s been in an accident…head trauma…unsurvivableorgan donorneed permission…to withdraw life support.”I never imaginedno more camping…
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dance to your own beat don’t ever apologizefor being yourself© 2025 Bruno TalericoStafford challenge 335/365.
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Frigid eerily calm air makes nostrils flare. Morning frost lightly dusts brown grasseslike sugar on breakfast donuts.Yellow-green finches bathe playfullyat cracks in ice.Steaming fragrant coffeewarms icy fingers.© 2025 Bruno TalericoStafford challenge 334/365.
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I dread the silent darkness,the formless unknown, morethan the terrors of my imagination. Under the stars, sitting on green grassand autumn leaves, I shrink from the abyssopened on all sides and into the future. Peering,my mind sees nothing solid,nothing to be grasped as certain,except uncertainty itself. Only theory-thickened obscurity. Science feels like a mist of…
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Peeking over the hill, the sun seessilver threads adorned by dewdrops—reality blossoming fiber by fiber.Energy woven into matter:strands of brown soil, green chlorophyll,red death and golden lifespun into elaborate tapestries.Living beings from lifeless sand,trees from rock—flatworms and amoebaschurning pond water. Proteins and lipidscarefully stitched into musclefed by carbohydratespowered by mighty mitochondria.A fragile body guidedby brain…
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In the small hours of night,when even the crickets go silent,beneath the silencethe metronome inside keeps time.Is it my bloodthat won’t stop pulsing in the dark—the planet turning in its sleep—or the cosmos keeping watch?© 2025 Bruno TalericoStafford challenge 331/365.
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The river flows slowlythrough the desertpast the leaning sycamore.Is what I have done my life?Is itmy mistakesand small successes?Is it what others say about me,admirers and critics old friends and strangers?Is it the spark that ignites,the flame’s warmth,or the candle’s reassurance?Is it ink on the paper,scribbled journals,or notes on napkins?Or is my lifea dropin the…
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Walking alone on a windswept beach,waves crashing, seabirds singing.A single set of footprints—I retrace stepswe once walked together,your name fading with the breeze.Broken shells, driftwood,gifts of love,undertow hiddenbeneath calm water.Love is doing what is best for you,whatever the cost—When you said “leave,”I obeyed, eyes stinging from salt spray and tears.Pain is a lesson best taughtby…
Desert Dweller 