Slate Canyon
Nov 6th
I feel tired. Perhaps it’s from the shorter days, but something about this fatigue feels deeper than what a nap could fix. So I go to the canyon.
The clouds that blanket the westering sun cast a golden gleam even in the early afternoon light. The glow matches with the burnt oranges and browns of the leaves. There is no snow on the ground and the warm wind makes me sweat as I lumber up the gravel trail. But this comfort is an illusion. The gray clouds whisper of an incoming storm. And the tell-tale sign of a frost always seems to be unseasonable warmth.
But fleeting or not, my rule is to make the most of all the warm days I have left
So I’ve come…here
I glanced toward the sky. My gaze is caught by the towering cliffs to the north of the canyon. I would like to hike them one day, but not now. That kind of an expedition would require more bravery, equipment, and foresight than I carry with me today.
My eyes settle on a scree field below them, and I march forward with a temporary goal.
The whining shrieks of unfamiliar birds scratch the surface of my peace. They sound desperate as they wrestle in the trees. Perhaps they are fighting to feast on a grasshopper that is still slow from the morning’s chill.
I plunge into the warm colored bushes and cross the empty river bed. Mounting my foot on the other side, I trigger an earthy slide that seems to last longer than it should; fine particles of stone flowing downward like water. I step aside to keep my shoes empty, and when the stoney flash flood subsides, I start up the crumbled hill.
A pile of large, uneven rocks at the bottom tell me about its steep grade. And while these large foot holds are stable, above them seem to be a vast blanket of sharp pebbles with nothing to anchor them to the mountain.
My pace slows as each step becomes a metaphor; sliding back with gravity once my weight is placed. And while my stunted journey retards even more as I begin to unceremoniously crawl, my internal rhythm speeds and salt drips down my face.
The spiders scurry into the crannies between the small rocks, and I envy their light footedness.
My increasingly helpless glance finds a line cutting across the stones, and when I get to it, I see that some sure footed goat has packed down a trail.
This scree field seems endless. So I exit through the trees to sturdier ground.
Sitting precariously on an uncomfortable rock, I resolve to untangle my feelings. But they are shrouded like the setting year itself… Moving slowly into the dark.
And while this canyon has recently been a place of revelation, my mind still feels too fast for me to really hear what the skies whisper.
My soul needs time.
It needs patience,
contemplation,
and to be filled with the infinite complexity of
emptiness.
I need quiet to hear, much like I need darkness to see.
And while my quiet treasure needs more consistent attention than I have recently paid, I know that with time the needle will move again . For now, I can smile gently, knowing I have taken the first step.
I stand up and step again onto the ocean of almost-sand. But this time gravity pulls me delightfully forward.
Cascading my planted feet onward.
Surfing me gently down the hill.
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