gate from our beach room in Labourie, St. Lucia
Escape from the chill of Vermont April; from the final days of my daughter’s senior high school year; from North American life as we have come to live it.
Escape into leisurely warm days and balmy beach walking nights.
Escape into time away, together. Memories.
Thanks to Mary Morrill Cunningham, via Gather the Women on Facebook for this image. A wonderful collection of insights, words and images from wise and powerful women.
Bryce Canyon is an epic poem, a fantasy novel forever unfolding, creative non-fiction and personal narrative in uncountable variations. Hiking the canyon is a writer’s paradise: at every turn, a prompt. You can’t walk ten feet without inhaling a panoramic sweep of towering red hoodoos or savoring the silver light glinting off smooth twists of drift trees. Iron red layers erupt with evergreen, juxtaposed against white monoliths. Contrast, change, challenge.
Each step a measured descent from rim to canyon floor, a descent into the detailed particulars of evolution and scale. Each rock measured by time we cannot begin to fathom, though we attempt by placing our human companions before a tower of stone for visual contrast. Each sprawling-rooted tree eking its survival amid sliding stone, the stone itself shape-shifting with time. Hoodoos rising like monuments to imagination, only to crumble imperceptibly to boulder, to graveled dunes of multi colored sand. Continue reading