Terms of Light

These desert canyons reward none of my usual efficiencies. When I hurry through them, i see only rock. Their subtler pageantry is a gift to those who linger long enough to see the shifts. Color as fluid as the shape of a cloud moving across the sky.

It does not announce itself; it arrives in degrees — an amber reflection here, a violet cooling there, a seam of rose suddenly visible where moments before there had been only shadow. To pause like child’s play lying in the grass watching clouds turn from a dragon to a tortoise, is to slow the body and suspend the inward noise, to see what exists around me.

Presence there is not a spiritual aspiration but a playful necessity.