Tags » On The Writing Life

Red

Red Mesa. The redness of the rock, and of the plants as well. Even the grass is red at the base. Perhaps that’s just the color it is—it might be Little Bluestem, such a contradictory name—or maybe it picks up the iron in the soil. 59 more words

Walking All Day On Stone

Realism

On a promontory, a huge Archaic campsite. People had slept in that sandy hollow for millennia, for it was black with firepits, and at times it must have been a trash heap. 65 more words

Walking All Day On Stone

Ever Deeper into Time

To the Syncline, where we watched a pair of ravens build their nest. Among the braided channels of the arroyo was a beautiful Archaic metate— 69 more words

Walking All Day On Stone

Unforced

Penistaja Mesa, tohellandgone west of Cuba. Cabezón dim and blue on the horizon. Tertiary strata, sometimes black with almost-coal. Everywhere petrified wood: enormous whole logs weathering into chips, as though we walked through slash left by a mad stone woodcutter. 17 more words

Walking All Day On Stone

Mud and Invisibility

Hidden Mountain on the Puerco. Crossed the sedgy wash in bare feet because the Chinle red mud stuck like glue and gooshed up between my toes. 80 more words

Walking All Day On Stone