Paradise lost, a taste of paradise preserved, burning desert besieged by bounteous blue waters and red, angry flash floods.
The stench of men and beasts from tourists, stray dogs, and too many beasts of burden foul the air.
The sight of garbage blown in the wind and hidden under grapevine, Sacred Datura, Cottonwood and Mesquite jar the eyes and mind when juxtaposed against the stark beauty of red rock, travertine colored water falls and the verdant flora.
Yet still the place teemed with birds, bugs, fish and wild animals.
And at the pools and falls, sweat, skin, bravado and bronze were on display in exuberant fashion. It was thrilling to take it all in.
Then, a lightning-fast, hurricane-force hotgale brought death in the afternoon by felling a diseased and burnt out tree upon a mother of 29 playing cards and crushing her skull.
This was on my last day of hikes, the grim Native American officers passed me by in their jeep, first on their way to the body when I was headed up to Navajo Falls, and then on their way back several hours later, with a body bag jumbling morosely in the open bed just as I was returning to camp. Two campers, most likely loved ones, a man and woman, sitting directly in front of the body in the passenger seat, stared ahead, shell shocked and blank.
The woman greeted me with a monotone, "Hello," and a lifeless wave of the hand. It was so odd, as if she too had been infused with the contradictions of the beauty and paradise lost of this place.
Loren M. Lambert © July 9, 2013
The stench of men and beasts from tourists, stray dogs, and too many beasts of burden foul the air.
The sight of garbage blown in the wind and hidden under grapevine, Sacred Datura, Cottonwood and Mesquite jar the eyes and mind when juxtaposed against the stark beauty of red rock, travertine colored water falls and the verdant flora.
Yet still the place teemed with birds, bugs, fish and wild animals.
And at the pools and falls, sweat, skin, bravado and bronze were on display in exuberant fashion. It was thrilling to take it all in.
Then, a lightning-fast, hurricane-force hotgale brought death in the afternoon by felling a diseased and burnt out tree upon a mother of 29 playing cards and crushing her skull.
This was on my last day of hikes, the grim Native American officers passed me by in their jeep, first on their way to the body when I was headed up to Navajo Falls, and then on their way back several hours later, with a body bag jumbling morosely in the open bed just as I was returning to camp. Two campers, most likely loved ones, a man and woman, sitting directly in front of the body in the passenger seat, stared ahead, shell shocked and blank.
The woman greeted me with a monotone, "Hello," and a lifeless wave of the hand. It was so odd, as if she too had been infused with the contradictions of the beauty and paradise lost of this place.
Loren M. Lambert © July 9, 2013
No comments:
Post a Comment