Too Many Variables (revised)

[mnaz]

On a frost-gold slope over a wide canyon, chocolate chips proliferate in all directions.... familiar scatterings of juniper and pinon, tossed onto a saffron dough and mixed with pure New Mexico light, which is a painter's light.... a holy light. It is the light which separates this place, the faithful often repeat. Perhaps. But crisp air and sprinkled juniper abound throughout the Western high deserts. It must be more a phenomenon of contrast here. The canvas is too thin. The soil is too barren and reflective. And the results are stunning, especially in this low-angle sunbeam freeze, barely a mile past the winter solstice.

A volcanic plug dominates the scene before me; a giant charcoal glove, thrust high over the scrub. There is no sound or motion, except for leftover ribbons of snow, which carve up the giant glove and threaten to undercut a nearby sandstone ledge and set it adrift. I remain quietly certain of redemption buried deep on the horizon, since I cannot depart from my Bible. But the horizon makes no move. I have acquired immovable ground. I have a solid-gold foundation under me, which gave its word....

And then, a stretching shadow and a spike of nuanced pink.... My foundation is in motion and can no longer be trusted.... a hazard of such a wide-angle stage. I suffer the earth's rotation. It accelerates and I am forced to hold on. I sense its axis wobble and a thin tether of reason which keeps the poles from rolling over. I sense vibrations of fire. The crust here is not so thick. I am closer to the violence which made me.... a crush of irreversible tides.

My station drifts. The moon is a pale excuse; never the same face, or place. It creeps up from behind while I am distracted by sienna sunfire. It raises up adobe ruins out of their blinding sagebrush tombs. It tips the scale.... one too many variables.... like a biting, inviting cold which runs in and out of me. God bless the deep cold. Give it a voice. Let it take on remorseless fire, like unseen, untold history across the generations.... across the wide-angle stage....

[hester_prynne]

Mnaz, I so enjoyed this sunset, through your gifted soulful eyes.
The last three lines make it utterly magnificent.

Wow.
H

[Zlatko Waterman]

You're pushing toward something very good here, mnaz.

Move over, Barry Lopez, Edward Hoagland . . .



--Z

[mnaz]

Thanks, Z. and Hest....

It's a process....

an exhilarating, painful process....