Writing from the far edges of the American desert.
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 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 …
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.
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.
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 …
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.
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.
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.
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 …
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 …