It has been at least twenty years since I have read “Riders of the Purple Sage,” by Zane Grey. It is a great book, full of adventure, and fills one’s head with all sorts of imaginings and pictures.
One thing the book is not – sexual. I hate seeing reviews where the person pulls a word like ‘undulate,’ and turns it in some creepy term with sex-ridden overtones. My opinion is that the person doing the reviewing ain’t been laid in a while, so everything they see, touch, smell, or hear is all about the sex they ain’t getting.
Opinion aside, purple sage is a real thing. I bring this up because, with the first drizzle of spring rains in the high deserts of Nevada, the sage is blooming.
Usually, a dull brown with very little going for it in color throughout the year, sage is generally only good as shade for the rabbit and the snake. And once lit ablaze, it burns quickly, giving off a thick creosote smoke.
My favorite is the naturally occurring wild variety, with its thicker stock and branches, rather than the domesticated sage, which is whispy and thin. With its blooming comes the annual sneeze-fest with the accompanying runny nose, watering eyes, and scratchy throat.
But if you’re fortunate enough to go where the plant grows free, you’ll see acres, upon miles of purple sage clear to the far horizon. It is akin to an ocean of azure, only this sea is an undulating purple.
Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.