In 1980, returning alone after weeks out on the road touring the States and Canada, my final lift. I had grabbed a ride north of Flagstaff, and the driver asked if I could drive while he finished off a cooler of Beer sitting on the bench seat between us .

I had been born and raised in Phoenix, so the red lights atop the radio tower array on South Mountain were my sign that I was home.

I dare not lead a drunk trucker to my mother’s home, so I parked at a strip mall down the road and walked the final mile. After 6 weeks on the road, and two more months before the road trip working at summer youth camp, Mom was unfazed , non-curious, and unsurprised at my presence.

But there was a bed and a shower to be had. And that was something.

And now, decades later, the red lights towering above the Valley still serve to welcome me home.

---

Upon the peak, silent fanfare winks,
28 towers outfitted in crimson light,
Their rhythmic blink, a welcome sight,
High upon South Mountain’s sentinel height.

Those lights, my pharos, guide me home,
In their scarlet glow, familiarity gleams,

As desert heat embraces weary wanderers,

And the towers whisper silent dreams.

Some dusty cowboy first laid claim upon this arid land,

his adobe roots burrowed deep into caliche earth,

Like him, I too ventured far and wide,

To return where my soul claims worth.

The red lights, silent sentinels of the night,

Speak volumes with their subtle glow,

No words are needed, Mom’s nod suffices,

Cracking her door a cautious, sterile invite.

Beneath the blinking red, I find solace,

A shower’s embrace, a soft bed’s repose,

And there, amidst the quiet hum of home,

Nomad tales disdained , evoking yawns and doze.

So I share my tales with the desert air,

And the towers, with their knowing eyes,

They listen, as night falls over the Valley,

Welcoming wanderers beneath their guys.

In the stillness of the desert night,
As heat and darkness intertwine,
The towers stand sentinel, their lights aglow,

A beacon for the lost, a refuge divine.

In this sacred dance of light and shadow,

The towers remain, steadfast and true,

Guiding sun drenched sons through the vast dry void,

Home, to the confines of the desert, anew.

---

Cheers, nca