The fabled tales of hidden gold in Lost Dutchman circle my mind as I enter one of the newly built cabins here in the park. The expansive Sonoran desert inspires as I stroke my long whiskers while the sun sets. I catch a glimpse of myself in a windows reflection and hardly recognize the face I see.
Out here is when I can lose the concept of time as it relates to the world during the working week. I dont need to be on any schedule, and follow my instinct and passion instead.
I ride my bike on the desert trails, ducking and dodging cacti as I weave through the campground. The cool March morning tickles my skin.
My stomach grumbles and so I light the propane stove. It isnt the perceived time to eat, but out here I listen to my body and refuel only when hungry. Three meals a day is not for everyone, dare I say it is for anyone. Listen to what your body really needs, as it knows better than anyone else.
I go looking for the lost treasures in the Superstition mountains but find only a rattler catching some sun. I hike for hours in the desert wilderness, carefree and wild.
I get some strange looks, but the world need not worry, I am not a Charles Manson. My crazy eyes and wispy beard are from years of solitude and the freedom of expression that has accompanied that loneliness, not delusion.