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There isn't much to Arizona for the outdoor loving northerner from Michigan with its bountiful natural life offered there, but there is one thing that Arizona has over Michigan. The smell of citrus blossoms filling the air around your heed warning to whats to come; fresh citron. Oranges, lemons, grapefruit, and for the lucky few, limes. At first, it goes slow, only a small number of succulent fruit ripening at a time. However, soon you become overwhelmed by the amount of fruit coming off the tree. Now if you don't personally have any citrus trees in your backyard, don't worry, you won't be left out. You will become surrounded by them no mat

Between the night and the daylight, When night begins to lose its power, Comes a paise in the day's occupation, That is known as the native's hour. I hear from my bed upstairs, The batter of gargantuan drums, The sound of a man that is chanting, And the beat of the native hums. From the door I see around the fire, Descending the front porch stair, People dressed in traditional attire, Dancing the fire's flare. A sudden stop into silence, Yet I know by their eyes surprised, I, too, saw the vision in the fire's flare, I shall never forget nor have it revised. I wondered what it meant all my life, But I now know it was telling