Archive for July, 2012

Clouds over Mount Olympus

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Cow Parsnip

If it were to be growing in someone’s yard or along a fence somewhere, it might be referred to as a weed, but when we find it out in the wilds of the canyons and mountains, it is easy to see that it is anything but a weed…it is a beautiful wildflower, properly referred to as an herb.  It can reach over six feet in height and can grow in environments from sea level to around 9,000 feet in elevation.  If I tell you anything else about it, I’m sure it will sound like I’ve been reading Wikipedia…which I have….  It might not be a truly scholarly resource, but it is a readily available one…and thank you, too, Google….  🙂


End of the day….


Park bench….

For those of you having an unseasonably warm summer, I offer you an unseasonably cool place to sit and relax…to while-away your lunch hour…to rest after your evening walk….  🙂


Life on a Tree Stump….

There were blue and green and red and black lines on the map, the glossy finish reflecting the overhead office lights, the solid red light illuminated on the nearby phone telling me that a voice-mail message was waiting…and waiting….

…the sound of tires screeching and metal crashing into metal and the siren of a police motorcycle approaching with its loudness and then, a fan swirls the stagnant air and I can hear the beeping of digital keys unlocking the lobby door, the boss calls to a co-worker and the clock on my computer says it’s 4:55…and counting…

…rolling wheels on the plastic pad, truck keys pulled out of my bag…shut-down the fan and the computer and lock all the drawers…the work week is over as my shoes tap down the stairs…onto the carpeted hallway and out through the double glass doors…evening and morning and another one, too…chores finished…

…and the mountains are calling me…twelve miles away…eleven…ten…nine…the moments passing, the canyon is enveloping me with its rocky arms, forest and green and a rocky, rumbling stream…

…hit the alarm on the key fob, put the keys into my backpack…adjust the camera around my neck…step into the gravel…and beyond onto the rocky trail…

…mulch and pine needles and earth and the soft, sweet smell of wet and rot and decay and the greening of life in the canyons away.  It’s called Days Fork in Big Cottonwood Canyon…

…there’s a mine at the end of the trail, a part of Utah’s history that’s already been made…and it’s not going anywhere soon…

…so I stop, I tarry, I look and listen, sit and stay a while…there’s so much life between here and the end of the trail…and I found this little micro-cosm…a world unto itself…teeming with life and death and rot and rebirth…

…life on a tree stump….

Thank you for visiting with me…for staying a while…sharing my world….


The Reading Room….


Follow me….


To have drifted like these….

These photographs were taken somewhere between one and two miles up into Little Cottonwood Canyon along the shore of its very own stream or creek.  The running body of water actually begins about nine miles east of where these pictures were made…up into the canyon, just past the ski town of Alta, at a small-ish alpine lake called Cecret Lake…with that spelling.  The lake is situated at about 11,500 feet in elevation…and eleven miles down from there, at around 4,500 feet, the stream enters the Salt Lake City metropolitan area….  So, these pieces of wood may have traveled all of those miles or only some of them…and maybe came from around 7,000 feet higher than where I found them…at any rate, I think they’re rather pretty…rich in color the way the earth is…from whence they came…and where they shall return in their elemental forms….


After the Rain….


and away….

The moment’s rain fell in soft drops on the light gray earth, each tiny globe of water making a slightly larger wet crater in the dirt of time that had filtered and sifted from mountain streams and into the great rivers and lake on the western horizon.  Men had brought it in by the truck-full to build the bank on which they sat…on which they sat and deep into the waning light as dragon flies and mud swallows dipped and lunged across the water’s upper edge, seeking a dusking meal against the long night….

Mama’s gonna wonder where I’m at, you know….

Bobbi…

What?

Ever since you’ve been grown enough to leave the yard, Mama’s known that you’ve been with me.  You ain’t never been nowhere else.

I know…

Then why are you saying she’s gonna wonder where you’re at?

Cause she’ll still wonder.

Well, she’ll find out when she normally does, then, won’t she?

I guess…

A fish jumped in the darkling water, making ripples spread into the long grass and reeds along the shore, tiny water molecule waves carrying the gray dust that slid and fell from the bank beneath bare feet and sneakers pushing and moving stones and sticks out of the way for legs to stretch into their powdery nests.  The fish caught nothing in his flight and swam further downstream, gliding with the gentle current, fish eyes looking up from the sides of his fish head, looking for something that wasn’t there now that the sun was gone and gone and brightening someone else’s day.

The rain left a smell of wet dust and nothing more as its bedtime clouds thinned and fled in the blacking sky.  Stars appeared in their distance between the cobweb lattice-work of the bridge’s girders and supports and beams and ties and double rails, specks of light glimmering against the earth and her slow and silent spinning, flickers and hope, torches of wonder falling into the tucked-away recesses of ancient time and the enduring heaven of space.

Tam…?

Yeah…?

We ain’t goin’ back, are we…?

That’s right, Bobbi…we ain’t goin’ back…I told him that was the last time….

He reached over to tuck a strand of straw-colored hair behind her ear, gently touched a purple-blue bruise on her cheekbone, leaned and kissed her forehead…and lingered a moment to smell her dusty, little-girl hair….

…but we’ll let Mama know we’re ok when we get where we’re going.

Where’s that gonna be?

Ain’t figured that out yet, but I think we’ll know it when we get there….