A dark angel strove to conciliate the morning dew’s short life evaporating into the light under a bright July sun. Somewhere a dog barked. Somewhere a cat snarled. Somewhere a child cried. Somewhere a woman screamed. An angry ancient truck ground wearily up the old south road to a place where the moon never shines, where dark stars go to die. The sky turned orange yesterday when the blue lady left her cave flying on gossamer wings into the Mojave Desert. Somewhere a phone chirped. Somewhere a crowd cheered. Somewhere a soldier died. Somewhere people still laughed.
Month: August 2022
Barley Corn Moon
Cole lived with his wildcat lover in a hidden canyon of red rocks and dark starry nights where his music and song was performed for Ravens and buzzards and lizards and all the sisters and brothers. The Wildcat disappeared when the Barely Corn Moon rose above eastern parapets not to be seen again until summer sage bloomed in a purple haze of scent. A blue sky glowed golden where Ravens soared free from purple darkness when vampires flew, when banshees howled where there was the sorrow.
First Sweet Kiss
High mountain peaks where we longed to be above narrow valleys that sheltered our minds during the dark December before holiday luminarias when only writing our poetry and reading Virginia Wolf gave us hope for tomorrow’s eager new light to erase the quiet solitude of dark cafes with frosted windows which kept us alive when snow fell softly on extended tongues tasting of fresh coolness like from a first sweet kiss.
Painted Hand Ruins
We went over to SE Utah yesterday in search of the Painted Hand Ancient Pueblan ruins. After we missed the turn once, we turned around and found the rough rocky road. After about a half mile we found the parking lot and the 1/4 mile trail through sage, piñon and juniper and down some precarious places over the canyon rim we disccovered a tower and a few remaining walls. The ruins were certainly not as lage and magnificent as Mesa Verde, but never-the-less we were visiting a place where folks lived a thousad or so years ago and it always demands a sort of reverence. Here are a few pics of the adventure. As you see, I didn’t make it to the bottom as the trail became too precarious and I wasn’t fully prepared, not expecting the difficuty. So, be safe rather than sorry. I didn’t want to have to call Search and Rescue to haul me out with a broken leg. Already did that once and that was enough.
My Backdoor
I walked out the backdoor of my life into desolate cold bleakness where dirty grey snow meets steel grey sky offering no horizon or shadow to define my place in the universe. No sign of life, nothing moves in this frozen space without end. Perspective of my existence lost I wandered away into grey vastness of a cold unforgiving desert searching for a lost memory in a far distance that did not exist. I heard the howl of a hungry wolf.
Ed's Pages 