Archives for September 2004

Random Images of a Canyon

Chipmunks eat Starburst’sweet, fruity, and sour.
It’s not quite like regular seed! They enjoy the hiker.
But shy of humans, ravens plane the cliffs
looking down on the hiker in suspicion.
Junipers yield naked bluish berries,
hard like steel between the teeth.
The sandy creek winds its way
cutting through banks of fine sediment.
Boulders sit in rock slide piles,
coming in endless shapes.
Some without faces. Some frown, or smile,
to show glittering, sandstone teeth.
There’s the canyon’s shadowy ghost,
it doesn’t mind the human, either.
Clouds travel the September skies.
The hiker shouts while finishing lunch,
his voice echoes off canyon walls.

Dancing Cottonwoods

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.

Conjuring the Past

Something isn’t right, it’s never right! I don’t know whether I’m depressed or just restless? However, I am enjoying school very much. Finally, I have classes that I can relate to, and people I can discuss political issues with. But the begging landscape keeps pulling me away from civilization, into the shadowy wilderness of Juniper hills, and deep filled canyons of silence.

As I am walking home through the campus, after classes, I’m enjoying the blue sky filled with small white clouds. It’s hot outside, but there isn’t any desert wind. Walking under campus ponderosa, the sun sifts through pine tree branches. An old lady carefully limps past me and I look into the eternity of her eyes. She looks like an ancient creature covered in folded wrinkles with narrow lips tightly woven. She is beautiful and quietly walking past me. She has an intuitive friendly face. I felt like stopping her and talking. I love to be around older people whether they are wise or just lonely. I wander where she was heading? Does her family visit her as she looks quite solitary.

This town is filled with young students in their twenties but them are aliens. I don’t know why? I’m the stranger. In my head an ancient piano is playing: Somewhere My Love at a funeral without visitors, family, or friends. There’s a coffin filled with a sad human being covered in red and yellow roses. This was nothing more then a spontaneous thought: I begin to hear wind howling down sandy canyons. It’s a constant, soothing roar that never stops. Within the quiet shade my mind conjures images from the past. At one time, this college campus did not exist. I can see Paiute men from the old days wondering through here in search of rabbits. Instead of green lawn, there was wild sage. The images flicker in the mind like an old picture show. Between two worlds the sun is humming. Something is out there – waiting.

Long ago, there was no Cedar City, and there were no Mormons entering Southern Utah. This desert province wasn’t Southern Utah. Before them the ol’ Spanish Trail went right through the heart of Cedar City and down into Northern Arizona, to Santa Fe. In 1776-77, the Dominguez-Escalante Expedition traveled through here.

This land is stolen. It is occupied territory. America is a simple label placed on an ancient landbase filled with the endless history that predates Columbus, or my European ancestors. As I am walking, the wind begins howling and weeping. The pine needles begin to sing.