Ice cream in the desert

All I wanted was ice cream on an unseasonably hot day in the desert.

The desire seemed reasonable, so I entered the mall near Palm Springs. The day was Sunday.

A vast sea of ugliness--all we were doing to despoil the environment and my particular participation in that despoilization--was all I could see.

The people were fat from eating bad food and I didn't want to look at them. I imagined that they drove big cars and lived in houses that are way beyond them.

I stood in line at the ice cream store and thought of Wallace Stevens. "Death is the mother of beauty; hence from her,/Alone, shall come fulfillment to our dreams." (Sunday Morning). I couldn't help myself, everywhere I looked, death was becoming the mother of beauty.

I decided I didn't want the ice cream after all, that the line of people waiting for their ice cream was much too long, the look and smell of the ice cream was much too sweet, and that I'd feel better afterwards if I denied myself this little pleasure and find the nearest exit.

On my way out I passed an attraction that seemed to have all the answers as to the next step.