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 fouled the air.
The sight of garbage blown in the wind and hidden under grapevine, Sacred Datura, Cottonwood, and Mesquite jarred 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.
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 hot gale brought death in the afternoon by felling a diseased and burnt-out tree upon a mother of 29, playing cards. It crushed 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 (just as I was returning to camp). They carried a body bag jumbling morosely in the open bed. Two campers, most likely loved ones (a man and woman) sat directly in front of the body in the passenger seat and 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 10, 2013
The stench of men and beasts from tourists, stray dogs, and too many beasts of burden fouled the air.
The sight of garbage blown in the wind and hidden under grapevine, Sacred Datura, Cottonwood, and Mesquite jarred 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.
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 hot gale brought death in the afternoon by felling a diseased and burnt-out tree upon a mother of 29, playing cards. It crushed 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 (just as I was returning to camp). They carried a body bag jumbling morosely in the open bed. Two campers, most likely loved ones (a man and woman) sat directly in front of the body in the passenger seat and 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 10, 2013
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