Home on the Mesa
Muscles Like Secret Drawers
The rocks on the rim spoke to me this sunset’s roseate glow. I saw fossils—I don’t know if they are fossils—but they looked like fossils, insignias of prehistory, leaves and creatures marking the stone, and my little life became a speck. Spring wind carved rock into sensuous curves today as it has been carving rock for millions of years. A steady sculptor. I stopped and looked up, a precaution one must always take here. First, look at the ground as you walk, then if you want to look up, stop, or else you’ll tumble to the ground or worse, over a deathly ledge. I looked up and saw an anvil in the sky—a cloud resembling a crusted snow drift with a bellyful of peach-colored light from the declining day. In five minutes the cloud turned dove gray, blending its massive shape into the others clouds—the sky family blending into one-ness.
The wind sang. I turned and went into the forest Read more
