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In red rock country, with cliffs looming overhead like great blocks of Neapolitan ice cream, I listen to the oddly contrary sound of water lapping in small hollows of stone.
The sun is slowly rising, but it feels already as if I were in her embrace. The rocks reflect her light and her heat down upon us in this little cove of slick rock and sand.
"It's funny that the words haven't burned," Carol says as she looks into the fire.
The boys head out to catch some fish, though hopefully not a striper, for they have a flavorless meat.
I watch my mother-in-law climbing back into the houseboat in search of food.
"We're plotting our day," she had said in response to my "Good morning." I of course replied, "So what's the plot?"
A new place, halfway home - with the possibility of ancient ruins. My desire for all things historical and intriguing came to the surface and I squealed in delight. Quietly squealed, so as not to wake my children.
Elaine sits above, her turquoise robe a garish contrast to the natural back round of orange, salmon and khaki cliff. But her hair matches.
"It's good to get rid of the unnecessary plants," Quincy remarks as she pulls desert weeds to feed the fire.
A bat squeals overhead and I look up to see him. Instead my gaze is met by the vibrant blue sky brushed with wisps of cloud and the diminishing shadow of cliff revealing a cave that in another hundred years or so will be a full blown arch.
Wildbound or her kidlets stir in their tent on the hill. One must have their privacy.
Michaela looks chilly as she climbs off the houseboat ladder and up the slickrock to the fire.
"This is a bunch of burned up cardboard," Quincy informs her like a tour guide in a museum. "And a bunch of burned up weeds.
Being a being of few words in the morning, Michaela answers with a conservative, "Mmm-hmm."
Bugs I've never seen before buzz about, sometimes alighting on my arm until blown away by the mythic wind that is my breath. Sort of god-like in a way, don't you think?
Carol found more paper to burn, and I am wondering when Wildbound and her spawn will finally emerge.
As I hear Dominique pound the floor with his little feet, I wonder that I shouldn't go check on my own kidlets, to be sure my Rivulet has not taken yet another dive off the berth.
Wildbound came out first. I didn't even see her. She points NAM on his way down from their perch to the houseboat bathroom. Why, I wonder, when the entire world is a bathroom? Or at least, fifty feet from the water, all the world is a bathroom. So says Dreampacker.
She stays by the tent to take some pictures. the camera is like a useful necklace, a thing so needful for capturing beauty. I rarely see her without it.
"I still have a big block of ice," exclaims Judy.
"Bob never says things not true . . ." Carol's defense of Trailblazer Bob trails off into the good natured laughter of the others in the room. She was merely trying to defend his description of yesterday's hike from Kevin's teasing. It's amazing how a proposed two hour, three mile round trip hike can actually be a six hour six mile hike, and Trailblazer will still defend his initial preparatory description. As he says, "A straight line on a map is never a straight line in reality."
Of course, I didn't go see the Broken Bow myself, but I can record the talk.
Now the light has reached the water, reflecting off the south-west wall. The water is remarkably glass like . . . and though it looks like a river, it's in soft moments like this that I remember it is a lake.
The clouds are moving northward, behind us. Like time. This trip has been a marvel of cliffs, speed, heights and winds. I have enjoyed it. I feel comfortable and included by my companions. Yet I yearn to be home with my husband. Scratching his dark hair, seeing laughter in his dark eyes. Maybe I just wish he were here with me. He would love it here. Perhaps even more than I do.
My daughter is awake now, though my son sleeps on through the good natured laughter coming from the kitchen. Rivulet watches me hungrily with her sleepy eyes and smiles as Michaela waves at her through the window by our bed. Lemur wakes up when River screams for breakfast and changes her tears to giggles in short order by waving a rubber lizard in her face.
What a beautiful morning!!
Lake Powell, Willow Creek, June 8, 2007
The sun is slowly rising, but it feels already as if I were in her embrace. The rocks reflect her light and her heat down upon us in this little cove of slick rock and sand.
"It's funny that the words haven't burned," Carol says as she looks into the fire.
The boys head out to catch some fish, though hopefully not a striper, for they have a flavorless meat.
I watch my mother-in-law climbing back into the houseboat in search of food.
"We're plotting our day," she had said in response to my "Good morning." I of course replied, "So what's the plot?"
A new place, halfway home - with the possibility of ancient ruins. My desire for all things historical and intriguing came to the surface and I squealed in delight. Quietly squealed, so as not to wake my children.
Elaine sits above, her turquoise robe a garish contrast to the natural back round of orange, salmon and khaki cliff. But her hair matches.
"It's good to get rid of the unnecessary plants," Quincy remarks as she pulls desert weeds to feed the fire.
A bat squeals overhead and I look up to see him. Instead my gaze is met by the vibrant blue sky brushed with wisps of cloud and the diminishing shadow of cliff revealing a cave that in another hundred years or so will be a full blown arch.
Wildbound or her kidlets stir in their tent on the hill. One must have their privacy.
Michaela looks chilly as she climbs off the houseboat ladder and up the slickrock to the fire.
"This is a bunch of burned up cardboard," Quincy informs her like a tour guide in a museum. "And a bunch of burned up weeds.
Being a being of few words in the morning, Michaela answers with a conservative, "Mmm-hmm."
Bugs I've never seen before buzz about, sometimes alighting on my arm until blown away by the mythic wind that is my breath. Sort of god-like in a way, don't you think?
Carol found more paper to burn, and I am wondering when Wildbound and her spawn will finally emerge.
As I hear Dominique pound the floor with his little feet, I wonder that I shouldn't go check on my own kidlets, to be sure my Rivulet has not taken yet another dive off the berth.
Wildbound came out first. I didn't even see her. She points NAM on his way down from their perch to the houseboat bathroom. Why, I wonder, when the entire world is a bathroom? Or at least, fifty feet from the water, all the world is a bathroom. So says Dreampacker.
She stays by the tent to take some pictures. the camera is like a useful necklace, a thing so needful for capturing beauty. I rarely see her without it.
"I still have a big block of ice," exclaims Judy.
"Bob never says things not true . . ." Carol's defense of Trailblazer Bob trails off into the good natured laughter of the others in the room. She was merely trying to defend his description of yesterday's hike from Kevin's teasing. It's amazing how a proposed two hour, three mile round trip hike can actually be a six hour six mile hike, and Trailblazer will still defend his initial preparatory description. As he says, "A straight line on a map is never a straight line in reality."
Of course, I didn't go see the Broken Bow myself, but I can record the talk.
Now the light has reached the water, reflecting off the south-west wall. The water is remarkably glass like . . . and though it looks like a river, it's in soft moments like this that I remember it is a lake.
The clouds are moving northward, behind us. Like time. This trip has been a marvel of cliffs, speed, heights and winds. I have enjoyed it. I feel comfortable and included by my companions. Yet I yearn to be home with my husband. Scratching his dark hair, seeing laughter in his dark eyes. Maybe I just wish he were here with me. He would love it here. Perhaps even more than I do.
My daughter is awake now, though my son sleeps on through the good natured laughter coming from the kitchen. Rivulet watches me hungrily with her sleepy eyes and smiles as Michaela waves at her through the window by our bed. Lemur wakes up when River screams for breakfast and changes her tears to giggles in short order by waving a rubber lizard in her face.
What a beautiful morning!!
Lake Powell, Willow Creek, June 8, 2007
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1 comment:
Wow. I love it. You have captured the feel of the morning beautifully. You have incredible talent. Keep writing.
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