MYSTIC HOTSPRINGS

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MISTS AND VAPOuRS

20 April 2018

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hot springs, a holy place

a trinity of water-forms

billowing clouds

bubbling pots

and the snow,

laid out in a fine drizzle

upon sodden ground

toes squishing through muddy fields

to an outcrop of mineral mounds

waters wrapped around my body

precisely the way clothing isn’t

a process of sublimation begins

dissolving a little at the edges

I am turned from solid form

into steam,

mists and vapours

I languor a while, lost in a daydream

and then

I drape myself over the cool earth

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CAPITOL REEF

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DUSTY BLOSSOMS

CAPITOL REEF NATIONAL PARK

April 19 2018

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I caught a glimpse of a sparrow’s flight

between pink canyon walls

and in that space there glinted

light

through the leaves

of the cottonwood trees.

I walked amongst the hum of bees

in the dappled shade

and felt the shift of spring’s warm breeze

as she walked in that same glade.

🌸🌸🌸

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SIGNS OF SPRING

The clouds are hanging low, and the wind is shut out by the gates of the canyon - those huge rock walls on either side of a small snaking green river. Cottonwood trees grow all along the edges of the water, their youngish bodies fat from drinking (they are no more than 100 years old). The rock seems to soak up the sun’s rays, permeating every small breeze with warmth. The leaves ripple and dance, and everything everywhere is fresh, lush, and light-filled.

Evidence of life springs up abundant - petroglyphs and barn houses, horses and marmots. A flurry of Pinion Jays, blue as the sky, twitter and flutter in a cloud of blossoms. The almond orchard is scattering petals, swapping them for new, tender leaves. The sound of bees is everywhere. The smell of the crushed petals makes me swoon.

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I SPY:

Ponderosa

Juniper

Cottonwood

Almond blossom

Bumblebees

Marmots

Spotted horses

Pinion Jays

Petroglyphs

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CANYONLANDS

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SKY SEEKING

CANYONLANDS NATIONAL PARK

. April 18 2018 .

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“It is possible from here to gaze down at the backs of soaring birds…”

~ Edward Abbey

Wrapped in blankets, coats, and shrouded against the wind, the dawn peering above the blue horizon, stars still twinkling in the west, we made our way to the arch.

A huddle of photographers were already there, and I scrambled around the rocks, seeking out a view of the sky.

Dawn came, rays over distant mountains, through a haze of windswept dust.

The desert has been breathing deeply, these past few days.

And after a few photos, I set aside my camera and watched the land emerge in pink and purple hues, letting the wind envelope me.

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SMALL WONDERS OF THE CANYONS

scrambling up and over huge humps of rock, arriving breathless to look upon the landscape stretching out as far as the eye can see.

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tiny patches of scarlet Indian Paintbrush flowers, caught in cracks, shivering in the breeze.

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feeling submerged, surrounded by the wild.

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the lonely call of the wind.

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stories of rangers and cowboys told in old yellow photographs.

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the changing colours of the rocks and sky:
pink and red - yellow and blue - orange and gold.

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midday siesta; stretching like lizards, soaking up the warmth of the orange rocks.

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sun sparkles seen through a straw hat.

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a hidden cave, tucked into the cliffs, holding an ancient secret…

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and a moment of free and wild abandon, toes stamping, dust stirring, dancing in that cave…

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