The thing about the city; there is no horizon. Just concrete and grease. And a cage of steel thrusts rising up. One may try to climb up one of them for a glimpse, except I've noticed this climb can have a strange way of robbing sight.
A solid, reliable concrete citizen once made a wrong turn, losing track of his particular patch of pavement. I blame the horizon for this. When he first noticed it-- that is, caught its wistful eye-- he had to attempt it. He was driving across a desert ridge at the time, feeling noise starting to drain away. Around the next rock ripple, he was sure of it.
He stopped and sat down on a beaten basalt slope and wrote himself into the scene; a thick quietude pressing in and a thin metallic tang in the lifts of dry heat. He reclined. Worthless bright prospects extended in all directions; superheated, colorless shades, solar washed and infused. A dirt road spanned the basin below; a ribbon of sheen, pulled straight over the scrub as a rubber band holding one mountain to the next.
The most rejected path might be near. The sun topped its arc and was overpowering. Common sense melted away quickly. The wind was mercurial, in its own confusion; mostly a calm westerly flow but sometimes an urgent blast; each time followed by the same awkward lull.... sticky silence. Solar rays bored in deeper. The breeze took miosture almost as fast as it was exuded. Ordinarily this sort of infliction wouldn't be tolerated, but it had been awhile since the last warmth. Common sense was humanely given the day off (that poor overworked bastard).
Land of endless horizonsCould one imagine being absorbed in a far off shadow? Those muted shapes all feathered into the slope, offering a more lithe version of the moment. But from there, one might yearn to be here. Measuring that space seemed unimaginable. Whoever printed the map must have some claim to it, but if they actually stood out there, did they trust the numbers spitting out of their devices? Arithmetic fails magnitude. Sit on the desert floor and bring your own meaning and myth.
It works on you; the graceful, effortless rise and fall. The land is unfinished, a blank canvas. Sun and cloud movements transmute paleness and glow into deeper textures, painted on bald mountains. Character comes to light and form reveals itself. It's a tremendous find, such a place. One might strike out in any direction and disappear into simple beauty on a giant scale; a scale which must defy pretense. Perspective seems not only possible, but likely inescapable.
"worthless, bright prospects in all directions"What would the far side look like up close? A mountain range rose in the south; traces of dull tan sharpening to a crest of blue-tinged umber. But straight ahead, the desert swelled and nearly swallowed the some of the lowest peaks. Delicate, opaque lumps of rock poked through; pyramid-shaped, most of them; all watching the proceedings from a soft, luminous slope. How could such a scene exist? It was irresistible-- either the scene or the question-- not sure. It compelled motion again, despite protestation. It seems the far side usually wins in these matters.
On the downhill grade, the road put up some resistance. A hundred gullies and dry washes materialized; most of them hidden until on the brink of the drop; deep, wide courses and furrows way out of scale to any conceivable drainage which might be necessary in such a place where motion equals dust. The desert was not everything it seemed to be.
"character comes to light and form is revealed"Immense curvature could now be seen in the basin floor, which had appeared flat from that basalt perch. How could any force of nature possibly make such a perfect massive bowl? At the bottom of the curve, the far side still kept its distance. Canyons and folds across the expanse were legends of faltering daylight. Nothing was recognizable from before. The glow which once seeped from here was in reality strewn volcanic rock and creosote bush, casting long shadows. It would be wise to turn back, but that idea held little weight, given the moment.
What about that obscurity and lithesome light, so clearly seen from the other side? It had to be a lot closer now, though even more elusive. A steady uphill grind began, so focused and determined that the objective probably passed by without notice. Eventually a broad canyon emerged on the left, but the road strangely veered right, climbing steeply over a red earth ridge piled upon the summit rise. As the road flattened, gravity seemed to pull uphill for awhile until equilibrium wised up to the trick. The illusion gained new life.
climbing the far side.... where was that place I saw?Time for another break, this time set to music. Actually, more like a pulse; a dub reggae rhythm emanating from the dash, turned down low and filling the expanse with echo. This music could have been born here.... best to experience it by drifting on its reverb stream across peace and a jagged rock rise, out over the divide.
Dusk was trying to put out the fire; to smooth out the edges. A Joshua Tree field was nearby; their gnarled, spiky limbs pointing toward heaven, like the Biblical Joshua, or so the story goes. A sign was needed. One beer later.... still nothing apparent. But two beers revealed a previously unnoticed Joshua Tree with three of its limbs bent down, pointing up the hill. Good enough. Time to move again.
The far side can be very persuasive.
