Selected Few

Camping in Glen Canyon

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Deep cliff shadows engulf the canyon.
Softened sunlight fades.
Darkness comes quick.
After a windy evening storm
I push my feet in wet sand
and listen to storm-provoked waves
of Lake Powell crashing in the darkness

Bats chase moths around the kerosene lamp.
An owl hoots from Cottonwood skeletons.

I’m 50 miles from any town
trapped in Glen Canyon’s heart.
The only way out is a boat.
I feel the restless
waters of the Colorado River
wanting to burst.
The lake whispers!

The Jackelope

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The Jackelope is a rabbit species that inhabits the Western United States, and unlike any other type of rabbit, they grow antlers that are similar to a Mule Deer, or an Antelope. Evolutionary Theorists cannot explain as to how the Jackelope is able to produce antlers, or where this creature might have evolved. There is no evidence to explain how the Jackelope uses it’s antlers, or whether the animal is territorial or not.

Walking into the Sunshine Truck Stop the other day, I saw a Jackelope mounted to the wall. Even dead you don’t see very many representations of this animal. I peered into its dusty plastic eyes. His antlers were similar to that of a Mule Deer.

I would like to catch one of these elusive creatures. In all my time wandering the Desert Southwest, I have yet to see one in the wild. They are rarely spotted even more so then Mountain Lions. The US Government cannot prove their existence. Many skeptics will claim that they are a hoax or just a fable, but this is not true. My own grandfather killed one while he was gardening out at our ranch back in the 70’s. He put it in a plastic bag but the maggots got to it. So he wasn’t able to skin and mount it. This is what he told me.

To Coyote

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Coyote, wild and brave, thank you for coming within throwing distance of my camp that night. I was thrilled by the yips and howls of your siblings. There was an E.T. moon above the junipers, on that plateau near the Grand Canyon. I wanted to leave camp and walk in your direction, just seeing how close I could get before getting spooked.

Black Shadow

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I thought I
heard the unseen,
while sleeping?

Nothing opened the door,
but it remained closed.
Yet, Nothing walked in
and I heard him
jingling his keys!
I also heard him
punching the code
into the key pad!
Again, no one came
through the door.
The door remained closed.

I see an ungodly shape on the wall.
The inanimate black shadow
watches me without eyes.

Introspection: Am I a Hermit?

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I was talking with my grandpa today, about hermits, those bearded men that still seem to haunt the mountains living in makeshift huts or sheep camps. He said I ought to take my camera and go photograph the few that I’ve come by and try to capture them in their routine. Of course I’m wandering if this would be considerate or respectful towards them?

I assume that these folks live in the hills because maybe they don’t want anything to do with civilization. These individuals truly live in the quiet places, yet, I don’t quite understand where they may be coming from? How do they survive emotionally with only themselves to entertain? I’ve been wanting to hunt of few of them down and get to know them. If they want the company?

To me, a hermit is a human that discovers happiness in isolation. Half of the time, I feel like a recluse. I tend to despise human company, out of frustration. Mostly, I crave the company of others. I would like to learn how to be at peace with myself as my thoughts are very stormy. I crave the sugars of society but I wouldn’t mind living on the fringe.

I don’t expect everybody to live in cabins, but I feel like a hermit. I’m waiting for a life changing event, for my dreams to grow. Yet, I’m not an earth-loving, tree-hugging, dope smoking stereotype. I’m an average, clean cut college student, and this is my journal. I won’t let the bigger world define my existence. I have my own innate power, to resist the common.

White Painted Aspens

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With the wind,
Aspen leaves clap
in cheerful crowds.

Yet, their yellow bodies
barely cling
against winter air.

The Aspens creak,
like rusty wooden doors,
wood screeching against wood.

With the wind,
the trees move in waves
as grass in meadows.

Leaves clap and fall
from white painted branches.
The forest sings like rivers.

Dancing Cottonwoods

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In moonlight glare,
Cottonwoods sing in the wind.
I see silvery branches, glowing.

Camp sits between the beauties,
near the sandy creek
running chilly and cold.

The Cottonwoods tilt their trunks,
waving their arms-back and forth
beneath the moon.

Heaven is here.
Dancing Cottonwoods,
creak their wooden limbs.

A Spring Desert Dawn

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The sun is rising.
The dog’s lying in the grass
listening to the crickets.

The roses are blooming
along with daffodils.
The wind swings them.

My orange cat’s purring on
The window sill.
Wind whistles through
the window screens.

The sky is lighting up,
burning with
warm glowing hues.

Just outta bed, I
open the wooden door
and sit on the porch.

Chimes sing.
The air is full of
fine sediments
blown in
from the desert.

Sad Thing Happened Today

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Today, My brother, my cousin and I were coming back across a very remote area on the Arizona Strip on our way back from Toroweap, of the Grand Canyon. That is where we had been camping. You have to traverse 64 miles of Primitive dirt road to reach this part of the canyon, and we had some bad luck while heading home. My cousin took his truck because it offered 4-wheel drive, but his tire went flat because of a tear. We had some help from a stranger, and that was a lucky thing. We thanked him.

After an hour or more of driving, we came across some ranchers who were herding cattle down the road. They had a twelve-year-old boy that was following them (he was driving a truck and trailer with horses in the back!), and their sheepdog was following behind. As we were passing them, they were stopped and their sheepdog went under the truck, and maybe it was for shade? Anyways, as we were passing them the boy ran over his dog, killing it. It was terrible. We stopped and hollered them down, and the boy came out screaming for his dad with tears in his eyes. His mother had been sitting in the passenger seat. I’ve never seen anything so disheartening, and we were about 38 miles from the main highway.

All the way home, we couldn’t stop talking about what had happened. I can only imagine how this boy must be feeling? I wished I could’ve done more to help?

Stuff like this makes you realize how fragile and short life can be.

The Dead Coyote

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I pulled my car up to a post marker off the side of the highway,
and there hung a dead coyote. Its head was tied to the post with bailing wire

His face was covered in blood
and his glassy eyes were still open staring at the broken sky.
its tongue was hanging out and drizzling.

I feel anger and sorrow for this murdered creature.
I wanted to untie his body and bury his soul somewhere remote.
a secret place where he could rest.

The coyote, a friend, but they stuck him on display
wasting his life away. They cut his ears off at the base
for some sort of bounty for the local BLM.

I can’t stop seeing into those glassy eyes and into the shadows of the beast.
Hopelessly hanging there, fur whipping in the wind. I’m connected to its death.
cold blood moving. the breathing is brittle and short.

As I looked at you coyote I felt the sorrow of this world.
Those damned cowboy men with chewing tobacco, leaving beer can trails all over
are bloody murderers and thieves of this ancient land.

They mock the very soul of this beautiful wild.

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