Tonight, the wind is blowing very strongly. This does not happen often in Phoenix. The palm fronds and pollen blossoms and creosote branches are dancing. The streetlamps throw an orange haze high into the dusty sky.

Nights like this are good for contemplation. Tonight the tears were close at hand while driving home. Because there is hurt. Because there is healing. These things, like the wind and the dust, are so mysteriously bound together.

Spoken prayer fails, and the solemn-yet-momentous cry for "everything to be alright forever" is carried upward by the wind.