Bright Angel Trail Last Light

Not HDR The Grand Canyon is right in the confluence of High desert, mountain ranges, the Colorado river, and large Rift zones..The levels of rock denote the different epochs of earth history and the type of rock in these layers give some understanding to the history that formed them. Bright Angel trail starts on the South Rim and works its way down to the floor of the Canyon and the Colorado River...which flows down and separates Arizona and California at the southwest border of Arizona. The canyon is 60 miles north of Flagstaff, Az...but is accessible from the northwest by Las Vega, Nv.... hikers and mule caravans start down Bright Angel every morning in hikes and various length journeys to the Canyon plateau and on down to the canyon floor! Very reasonable facilities on the south rim with lots to eat and do....a very worthwhile destination or stop on the way West.

 

The Desert Has a Voice (James Watkins)

 

The desert has a voice that calls

In dry, dirt dreams-

Warm, wind-washed wonders

In wingless, soulless flight.

 

Cold, moonlit masquerades

Through long level years,

Crying out with countless cares on deafened ears-

Drowned in measured, motor-muffled madness,

And child-chattered, purposeless flight.

 

Quietly, calmly calling-

Darkened, deepening desert-

Star-filled with stumbling stalkers

And wounded warriors in fevered nights.

 

Dreams-peaceful, persistent, dreams-

As wheeled sky turns

Eternal turning, evening eyes-

And thoughts of morning colored light.

 

Millennial seas-

Doomed and dusty years-

Row upon heaping row of years-

Tears-

Caked, covered

And desolate.

 

The desert has a voice-

That calls and halts

And peers with perfect perspective-

Stopping us in our way.

 

“I have seen blood-stained battles!

I have seen despot desires!

I have seen prophets come and go,

And ages pass with shallow…glancing blows!

I have seen civilizations crumble…

Tumbling, heavy-handed

Into pagan pasts!”

 

The desert has a voice-

And every grain of sand has a name-

Every wind-blown grain of sand.

And someone-somewhere-knows the names.

 

They have perfect place and purpose-

Rocks cry out! Rocks….sing!

Some soaring angelic scribe somewhere

Records the history of rocks, and sands, and deserts.

 

Drab, dull, drifting desert distances and plans.

Ragged, jagged, craggy-edged

Mountain spine explosions and

Dry, desert sand.

 

The desert has voice and future-

With lifted hill-high green valley-

And clear bright stream winding

To cool, crystalline sea.

 

They wait….silently…

Almost… forever waiting-

But I know the secret of deserts-

And –

Dreams.

 

James Watkins-April 2006

Done