"words, words, words..."

I was asked about the words to orchids.  Long days in the deserts of the west in the springtime, long years in the desert of the soul, two short prolific afternoons on laguna beach littered with seaweed from the high tide.  The hidden depths wash up to lighted splendor.  Cold water in the desert.  Salt water.  How I long to be hot or cold; lukewarm I am exiled.