Edge of Silence

Little painted creatures crawl down dark canyon walls. The creek is trickling. Crickets hum. The tower of stars ignite. Deep twinkling universe erases time, and fills empty space with the ages. Long ago, little people came here, passed through here, and their spirit remains. Images dance across the stone panels. The visions are possessive, intoxicating. At night, during sleep paranormal entities speak of long ago. I dream of a Pinion skeleton against hard turquoise sky…

…I think of a lone coyote shrouded by night, cut off from the pack. I’m glaring into the campfire, thinking that he may come into camp, not fearing me. Stranger things have happened in old ghost towns, or in the darkness of faltering mines. Yes, I used to go down mine shafts, bringing an Eastwing pick, a hard hat, and a black fluorescent lamp to look at minerals. I stopped exploring them when I returned to the old Ohio Mine, above Minersville to see it had caved in. Being up in the mountain, having bears come into camp while the fire is stoked, I have learned that everything happens in the boonies. Being on the high desert, my imagination can run rampant, but I still get some shut-eye.

I feel more and more like a hermit. It is tuning me, and the sound is clearer then ever. It is just a matter of deciding what’s worth leaving, and what’s worth keeping in this world of unknown things. One day, you’ll see my car blazing down dirt roads. But the next, I’ll be a ghost in the wild. I’m finding the eternal peace of isolation, desolation, and solitude. The desert has invaded my life, and my imagination. I walk in beautiful plateau and basin valleys, and mountain ranges.

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