I must dance tonight. As the full moon climbs to the zenith of a starless night, I leave the confines of my house. I pass through the doorway, shedding wood, metal, glass, and stucco. I slip through the gate in the fence and close it quietly so as not to awaken anybody or anything.

The trail is easy to follow. The moonlight shimmers upon the cholla, needles thick like fur. Graceful ocotillo, scarlet tipped strands reaching for the sky, point out the path my soul longs to take. My feet barely touch the rocky ground. My heart pounds with excitement. There, straight ahead, silhouetted against the black dome of night, stand the giant saguaroes. One after another, towering high, tall and dark, they guard the moon's domain. Arms outstretched, akimbo, tips and crowns graced with blossoms held up as offerings to the lunar lord. Their scent sweetens the air around me. I pick creamy white flowers and twine them in my hair. Slowly I raise my head to the silvery orb above and lift my arms to its glory. My body begins to sway. I feel the desert itself surge through me. Awe, adoration, longing, and love undulate from my softly prancing feet to the ends of my own scarlet tipped fingers. Earth energy tingles from the ground, spiraling through me, shooting sparks from my palms raised skyward.

One by one, I unfasten each button of my gown. It falls from my shoulders. I lower my arms and the soft cotton whispers against my body as it flutters to the ground. I step away and raise my arms skyward until sparks fly again from my fingers and the unceasing energy causes my back to arch. I tread ever closer to the saguaroes until I stand among them.

My body moves, synchronized with my thudding heart. Swaying, twirling, my long black hair whirls around my face. The lowering moon casts ebony images of the giant saguaroes which blur beneath my feet and I spin and dance beneath the glowing globe until my shadow melds with the cactus shadows. The feathery whoosh of owl wings brushes against the staccato beat of my heart, and I close my eyes, lost in the sounds of small creatures' claws skittering across sand. The whirring trill of a snake's rattles harmonizes with coyote pups yipping on the hillside. And then the melody erupts, full throttle. The wolves. Returned at last to their rightful place, they howl and sing and moan. I dance to their song. My dance worships them, worships with them.

I dance faster and faster, gyrating, springing through fragrant sage and tangy creosote. Stars blink on the horizon, mixing with the shining eyes of a million desert creatures. I see the Ancient Ones, dressed in feathered capes, ascending ladders from their kivas, climbing the sheer cliffs to their castles perched in canyon walls. Beside sleeping pueblos, water glints in the canals of the Hohokam. The Dineh and the Apache race their mustangs across desiccated ground as my dance keeps time to the pounding of the hooves.

I hear them crying out as they stampede past me. I run after them until I reach the top of a hill and see the lights of the awakening city winking on, covering the valley below like stars in a moonless night. The wolves fall silent. The images recede as the moon sinks behind the western mountains. The eastern sky lightens to gray. The desert quiets. The winds that always arise just before dawn fill the air with dust and deaden the night's perfume.