The Day the Sun Never Rose

Dear Dear Friends,

I'm typing on Michael's laptop in a small house we have rented for three nights. To get here, you drive through Moab's congestion of bikers, campers, and jeeps pulling ATV-loaded trailers, head south out of town, and don't fall off the road that hugs a cliff. Here, silence. Here I can forget that anyone exists except Michael and me. Oh, and the bird nesting outside the window. A western kingbird, I believe. Its light yellow belly and tendency to hover and dive lead me to believe this, though I am not a birder, and I could be wrong.

We got up early today. 3:45 a.m. All was utter darkness.Three hours of sleep due to snoring, heat, and windows whistling with wind. Our goal: to drive to Canyonlands to watch—and photograph—the sunrise on Mesa Arch.

By the time we reached the arch, a little after 5:00, the slightest hints of light illumined the clouds blanketing the sky, and we, along with about forty other hearty sun-worshippers, had high hopes that we would not only witness, but also capture on disk for all posterity, sunrise's iconic orange glow on Mesa Arch. People jockeyed for position. We waited. Sand blew in eyes, mouths, and expensive cameras. We shivered. We hoped the clouds would part. We waited more. And on this day, the sun never rose. Well, that's not quite true. I believe it did rise, but it never showed its face. The arch never oranged.

We walked back to the car in muted daylight, and that's when we saw in the landscape a rainbow of color, previously invisible during our dark walk to the arch. Purple lupine, white evening primrose, and some sweet, yellow flower, whose name I do not know, littered the desert sands. It was glorious. But too bad we hadn't seen the sunrise oranging up the Mesa Arch.





Now, post-nap, as I type this from the small house we have rented for three nights, my eye keeps catching Ms Kingbird flitting in and out of her nest.Through every window, beige rock formations can be seen guarding the land. All is silent, except the sounds of wind whistling through the window and Michael preparing dinner. We have no photos of the sunrise oranging up the Mesa; we have no goals. This day has been perfect.

Love

Carol