I’m beginning to understand. The seduction of wide spaces. Broad sky. Bleached colors. The stark simplicity of desert plant, the monolithic, sculpted geometry of rock.
Jane loaned me her house on a mountain top. Behind the beyond. On top of the world I wanted to write again, to find the voice I lost since leaving Maine.
I came to write. To be alone with thoughts. To find words to paint them. I stand alone on the top of the world. On top of a flattened patch with a house, on top of a mountain. One of many ringing, humping, sprawling, smoothed or jumbled in all directions. Shape and color shifts with light and shadow under the ever arcing, ever passing sun. And sky. The entire translucent, blue glass bowl of it. Crusted at its lower edge with mountains far faded a deeper blue, then purple, then close and rich hued. Petrified rock dressed in burnt sienna, ochre, purpled umber, slow dancing with dusty desert greens. Spangled now in spring. Scattered trinkets. Gold and purple petals. Green jeweled grass. Brushed bright in the wind scoured air.
My goat self beckons higher. A rocky turret where lone saguaro stands sentinel. Allowed to pass, I stand aloft. Lifted. Face the wind. Follow air currents in my hair. Soak sun into my skin. I spread my arms. Feel feathers ruffling in flight. My eyes grow keen, piercing the distance as I glance and glide. This realm of hawks. Lizards. I’m trespassing. A privileged glimpse. Another world. Another way.
The world is wide. And high. And deeper than I imagined. A vast and complex fitting of parts seen and unseen, arranged seamlessly. Intricately. Moving at its own pace through wind, sun, rock, water. Whispering its own wisdom.
And here I sit. Stringing letters in endless rows. Arranging air on paper. Wanting to be heard. Hoping to be seen.
I came to write.
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That’s beautiful, Sarah – you really have started to experience the awesome power of the desert. I live in Arizona, too, and I think your description is very well written. I was born in Tucson and have lived in southern Arizona almost all my life. I never tire of the mountains, rocks and cacti – they always seem to have different “moods.” I hope you return next winter and see it all over again fresh. Thanks-
Cookielu – Thank you. I’m sure I’ll be back – converted Easterner that I am! The drama of the desert is hard to miss, but to appreciate the real beauty sometimes requires a shift in perspective for those of us used to a differennt meliu. Once you “get it”, the east looks pretty tame by comparison. Enjoy the desert and her many “moods” (great description!) Sarah
Sarah,
I’ve had similar experiences from a high perch in the Ozarks. It always feels to me like trespassing at first. But then I find myself embraced, welcomed, made part of the family–home. I exhale all my baggage. Inhale renewal–me. I know others who gain perspective and renewal from the sea.
Perhaps it is the isolation and perspective alone, rather than the actual setting, that allows us to reconnect to an honest world and heal our fragmented selves.
Nancy
It’s funny isn’t it, the mountian, ocean thing. It’s not that I don’t enjoy the sea, but it’s those high places that seem to speak to me most. Guess I’m a earth/mountain girl at heart. (could it be the Capricorn goat thing?) I love your line, “reconnect to an honest world and heal our fragmented selves” – lovely. And so very true.
Sarah , I had the delight of reading your post on the hair, your writing style caught me right away and I curiously looked into some of your other writings. You certainly are fun and powerful with the pen.
It is an inspiration for me to get started. I have a story to tell and just need to get started. Thanks for making my morning even brighter.,
Wanda – thank you for your kind words. Now – go tell your story! all the best to you – Sarah