West Desert Journal

the Hard blue sky on a hot day tires me, under the sweltering bright fire of the sun. I’ve been on this dirt trail for hours inside a cab that lacks basic air conditioning. I started my journey crawling slowly through a valley of creosote southeast of Littlefield, Arizona. It is about 1000 feet above sea level. I was heading towards the mountains that border the western flank of high desert known as the Arizona Strip country.

I approach Elbow Canyon, which is one of the rockiest roads I have taken this rig on; jagged and short switchbacks lead all the way to the top of the canyon. The vehicle bounces back and forth in 4 wheel drive as I steadily climb the steep grade. When I get to the top, I look back into bottomless hole that leads to the valley below.

I’m heading to Toroweap. I could’ve taken the easy-quick route, but I went sixty or seventy miles off the main road. My ventures are not always for fun or recreation, but to escape from wretched daily life and I’m in no hurry to dive into these places with a swift return to town. This is personal and I am in no rush… I love the beauty of Mother Earth… Never do I take beauty for granted.

Beads of sweat gather on my forehead, the sun smolders the interior, but I love it. I park under a canopy of Junipers in a Juniper Jungle, and head to a place they call Sullivan’s Canyon. This is a wicked canyon that dives into pre-Cambrian rocks of the Virgin River Gorge. I spend the rest of my day down in there, where strange things lurk. Large and spectacular stands of Manzanita grow like ancient Bristlecone. There was something following me, I heard it nearby, but refused to react in fear. Whatever it may have been, it did not molest…

All is quiet… Nothing else really matters…

My future children may want to give me a proper burial, but I will not approve of it. If they love me, they will let the buzzards feed off my remnants… Or at least bury me somewhere in the remoteness of the Strip…

I am wondering through what beauty is left…

There is hardly a place to go
where man has not intruded.
Everything is changing.
I dream of what happened long ago.
What was Earth like then?
There is a divine power today,
not all is gone.

I believe that the sky
and the landscape will change.
People will have no part in it,
if they are not worthy.

Strange things come to me on the wind.
The sun in this quiet world is talking to me.
The Earth is helping me dream too.
The ravens are excited, and chatter
the news around in their little circles.
The desert is waking up,
and the ocean of silence is telling me.

So I have learned…

“The mountains are the last things that are remaining old and undisturbed, but even now we are building things into them. I still can go in them, camp out and watch the stars; sleep and dream in the night by an old fire; and wonder some where else other than this realm of confusion. It truly is something simple, easy, and very righteous. It is being alone and hearing the voices of the past…”

I composed this in my late teens, around the time I turned eighteen and was graduating from high school. You could say I was pretty lucky to graduate, considering I sloughed a lot of high school. If it hadn’t been for my mom’s steady motivation, I would’ve might’ve been a drop out. When I turned sixteen I took advantage of having a driver’s license, I spent a lot of free time in the hills. Friends used to go with me a lot, but they soon dwindled and went their seperate ways. I’m passed tweny now and the years are starting to slip by… Still those places that I love are still there. They sing of the past. I am going to post pieces of writings from earlier in my life, and include them under their own category. You will see them filed under Time Warp… They are quite simple, maybe even repulsive… But that was me six years ago.

It is gusty tonight,
as the fiery sun sinks into
the western mountains
Stars flood heavens deep
The ancient desert sings
The voice of the mountain
wails through the pinion
singing with the streams of
yellow grass and sage
The basin below
is cold and dusty

The mountain wind moves all night
The Coyotes run the midnight hills
yipping and howling
in the heart of this resistant land

Never to be taken!
Nothing is controlled
Nothing can rob the
soul of the wild

No person
will hinder me
from venturing
into shadow

creeping into the
deeper wild

where the
wind sings
ageless

further ‘n further
away from
my captors

…the wraiths
of civilization

No individual
will persuade me
from the call of
creation

forward,
into beauty
of earth and sky.

The drumming rain surrounds the little adobe this summer eve. In the morning the rising sun soaks the clouds in radiant light. The sun finally breaks from shadow, and dark golden light warms the window. Just before everything awakens, I take a morning stroll smelling the wet sage and creosote. The red rock landscape is burning fire red in morning twilight. Thunderclouds hug the mountains in the distance.

All these mourning doves have made their encampment around my quarters, enclosed by a few cottonwood. Around 8 or 9 P.M. a mourning dove flies into the door hatch and pokes its feathery head in. Another one follows, and they stay there for a while making their noise. Those pleasant birds are very charming to hear.

Tonight the constant rain awakens sensations of primordial desert. As the rain taps the roof, I think of the dawn and the dusk, and how thunderstorms travel the Colorado Plateau, always seeming to follow the sun into the west.

Tonight, when I checked my email, I was pleasantly surprised! One of my poems; A Spring Desert Dawn won second place in a scholarship competition for Dixie State College. It’s actually the first time that I’ve ever attempted to submit something to a literary journal, except to a few online journals.. So this gives me a little hope as to whether I should pursue this little endeavor more. As a writer, I consider my work mostly free verse and experimental.

The wilderness has been my only true friend. Through every trial, it is always there, listening. There is no hostility in the wild. The earth is beautiful, and quiet. No noise, except the mourning dove coming into your camp on an early spring morn, and the river roaring continually, and it has been making noise long before humans. Why did God, Creator, make me human? That is the question I ponder sometime, Why did he make me human?

Man, today, I really feel on edge, like things are not working out like they should? Somewhere along the line, I made a simple mistake, and now watch things unfold and move away from reach. Sometimes it is very hard to communicate with other humans, and I should just stop worrying for a while.

My parents came down to Saint George, and spent a few days down here with me. It is hard to see them go every time, because I want to be near my loved ones. My brother is coming back from New York, this August, and we are going to room together, somewhere in Cedar City. I’m missing family way too much lately. My vehicle is still broken down, and I’m working like mad to earn the money and keep bills paid. School is up in a few weeks, and I’m working at the Chevron in Saint George. Tonight, I’m training for the graveyard shift.

No matter how hard I try, chance has me chained by the ankles, once again. It can surely be a lonesome world at times, but when you lose your footing, you just have to keep moving, and loving life. That is the way I have often known it.

I’m uncertain; I worry about many things, even those small details. I have my doubts way too much. I wander how far down I allow my self-esteem to tread, on occasion, too?

Today, I came off an abnormally high plane of ecstasy that wasn’t expected. I’m still just extra happy today? First off, I went and purchased a new pair of shoes. My old ones were battered, and they have survived since I was in Flagstaff. Those good shoes met their end in the garbage can just outside of Target. Walking home, there were enormous spring thunderheads over Saint George with patches of dark blue sky. These new shoes are very comfortable and I had four hours of sleep, last night; maybe this is the recipe? Anyways, I’m getting closer to having my rig fixed, and then those hills are waiting.

This current theme was a little interesting, because it reminded me a lot of the desert teaming with all kinds of flowers in the spring and the first sounds of thunder. It was a simple and elegant layout, very minimal and very nice.