04 February 2009

Writing 1- Arizona- up the mountain to the first pool

Now I remember that's what I came here for- for the perspective to see what needs to be done with my life at home. I got a lot of information on the descent from our hike on Friday afternoon. But she first needed to hear the song, my song, a gift to her. And I thought that I could feel nothing of a presence as we ascended. Merely climbing, to keep my hiking companion within some sight, and enough to know that my son was still on the trail behind. Superstition mountain, Heiroglyph Canyon. Cragged rock, a trail run smooth into it, rising high above, the city to the west. The land seems to spread, allows distance, immersion into silence. The chit chat of random hikers passing is a nuisance- I want to be alone with her in the silence. I know she wants to talk with me, at least I wish she would. Hundred year old saguros lean back from us as we pass. I feel determined to keep the breath at my crown, and walk without thinking, for there is a cave near the summit that awaits.
All "3-and-some-feet" of my son is complaining every ten minutes or so, now he is finally sweaty enough to sacrifice the cap that shields his face from the "damn sun" in his face, and now I must wear it. The heavy sweat he left on the brow now sits cold and clammy on my own.
The trail narrows and becomes steep on the right as it levels down toward the left, to a shelf between walls that houses the first pool of water. It is a heavenly dream, miracle, oasis. We do not drink the water, but run our cupped hands across the surface of it, remove socks and lightly splash toes and balls of feet in it. It is cold and welcome. The ancient pictures in the rock are to our backs, high above on the wall without the trail. Looking up we see the water trickling down from over another rock. I do not know what is above that rock or where the water is coming from or what it looks like. For a long while I sat and did not think of it, even after my companions moved on to the higher and further grounds of the trail.
For some moments- a few, I could hear only the water spirits, the wind spirits and the chip of a winged one.

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