Arches National Park: Delicate Arch
This summer, I’ve gone on a number of camping adventures. On some of these, I took a moment to write a poem. While I normally am careful to keep such writing to myself, I’ve decided to try changing that a bit. Here is one of them from Arches National Park:
The arch rests atop the cliffs,
Springtime scattered in green blotches against the river below.
The air tastes like desert–heat and hot dust
And the zing of life tenacious.
I gaze through the arch at the distance,
Red cliffs, shelves, racks of the Earth–
Story upon story, leaves of the Earth’s diary.
Behind that, blue mountains crowned white
By clouds above, in the midst of the coronation.
I must reach that distant vision–
So often lost in offices, at desks,
In grocery store lines and at ATMs.
I must reach it and never go back.
I must go through the arch, the gateway to a new life.
I walk the path of red steep rock.
I walk beneath Earth’s bow in the sky.
I am beneath. I am through.
I sit on the cliffs, staring at red walls stained black,
At rivers far below lined with cottonwood trees,
At the desert singing its song of survival
Against the blue mountains.
I am through the arch, that much closer to the vision.
The trick is never to go back.