Nov 10 20
It was a cloudless razor blue sky all day, though constantly we heard the sound of a deep, rolling thunder. We could never tell where it was coming from; so much so that we thought we might be perambulating a fault line. The temperature averaged around 110 degrees. The passive part of ourself really loves this extreme, for without participation, there is an intensity that gongs and reverberates off of all surfaces (like a slightly more agreeable version of the evil force in Blackwood’s Willows). These temperatures also compress. Our usually poetic meanderings become an economy of survival; we spent the entirety of the outing witlessly scuttling from shade to shade — all action denuded to avoiding the sting of the ocular tinnitus of sunlight.
At about 3:30, excitedly, we found a shaded sand pit. Usually we are very fond of these areas, in any temperature. They are like little havens; private cribs to safely cozy out wild thoughts. This afternoon things were markedly different though. By this point we were as hot as a Sonoran tile and high as a kite. Probably due to the weird thunder and our brain having melted to rodent status — the high had taken on a paranoid aspect; as well, we were possessed to rid ourselves of clothing. Stripping down to our shorts we sat cross legged in the decomposed rock, raking at it, quietly demented. Pulling up fistfuls of granulated geology, we noticed what looked like fragments of bone. It seemed we were surrounded by chips and chunks of the bleached wood-like shards. This did not sit well with us. Though rationally we knew there to be no large predators in this swath of desert — a mood will have its way.
As we stood and were brushing the gravel from our bare legs, a distant, booming crack made us look eastwards; we saw a large black bird descending from the sky with startling linearity and speed. The result of the dive was dramatically and mysteriously cut off by a foreground boulder. Then all was still and quiet. In a fitful spasm we dressed, drank a tiny bit of water and skittishly started our return hike. All around the towering boulders felt like pagan ruins, the backlit ones surely concealing a tautly crouched panther. We scrambled hot and crazed for some time. A vanquished Lankester Merrin, we stumbled out from the last outcrop of rocks onto the ten mile plain — apprehensively looking over our shoulder — not at all knowing that in a moment all would change.
About a half mile from the car we started to feel a few cooling drops of liquid. The plinking continued confusingly until after about a minute we were in a downpour. The sun was still beaming but now with total friendliness. We took off our pack and laid down suddenly joyful amongst the creosote bushes — inhaling their lovely, herbaceous, wet-asphalt smell. The temperature was now around 75 and the previous schizoid airs, completely vanished. We laid prostrate until we were soaked through, thinking about this puzzle of volition, temper and context. The thunder was less of the rolling sort now, and more of the romantic, classical type.
At about 3:30, excitedly, we found a shaded sand pit. Usually we are very fond of these areas, in any temperature. They are like little havens; private cribs to safely cozy out wild thoughts. This afternoon things were markedly different though. By this point we were as hot as a Sonoran tile and high as a kite. Probably due to the weird thunder and our brain having melted to rodent status — the high had taken on a paranoid aspect; as well, we were possessed to rid ourselves of clothing. Stripping down to our shorts we sat cross legged in the decomposed rock, raking at it, quietly demented. Pulling up fistfuls of granulated geology, we noticed what looked like fragments of bone. It seemed we were surrounded by chips and chunks of the bleached wood-like shards. This did not sit well with us. Though rationally we knew there to be no large predators in this swath of desert — a mood will have its way.
As we stood and were brushing the gravel from our bare legs, a distant, booming crack made us look eastwards; we saw a large black bird descending from the sky with startling linearity and speed. The result of the dive was dramatically and mysteriously cut off by a foreground boulder. Then all was still and quiet. In a fitful spasm we dressed, drank a tiny bit of water and skittishly started our return hike. All around the towering boulders felt like pagan ruins, the backlit ones surely concealing a tautly crouched panther. We scrambled hot and crazed for some time. A vanquished Lankester Merrin, we stumbled out from the last outcrop of rocks onto the ten mile plain — apprehensively looking over our shoulder — not at all knowing that in a moment all would change.
About a half mile from the car we started to feel a few cooling drops of liquid. The plinking continued confusingly until after about a minute we were in a downpour. The sun was still beaming but now with total friendliness. We took off our pack and laid down suddenly joyful amongst the creosote bushes — inhaling their lovely, herbaceous, wet-asphalt smell. The temperature was now around 75 and the previous schizoid airs, completely vanished. We laid prostrate until we were soaked through, thinking about this puzzle of volition, temper and context. The thunder was less of the rolling sort now, and more of the romantic, classical type.