Serena Supplee Watercolor
The upper atmosphere was just coming alive as Laurie smoothly guided our mini van down Peter's Hill into Dry Valley; just a little south of Moab. In anticipation of the trip through this beautiful valley, and so that I could better focus on the majesty of this magnificent realm, I had agreed to relinquish control of the vehicle and let my wife drive. We were on our way "Up North" the day after Christmas to enjoy our extended family and take advantage of the bargains offered by retailers attempting to divest their remaining clothing inventory before the end of the year. Because of their failure to prepare a wish list, Santa lost patience with my family and had left cash and a few self-help books, instead of toys and games, in his red velvet wake.
Spenser and Alyssa were snoozing in the back of the van, experiencing the lingering effects of excessive holiday participation. McKale was relaxed and drowsy, but slept fitfully because her brother was overlapping her space and cramping her style. Laurie and I carried on a whispered conversation to the turned down back beat of the radio spilling out easy listening hits. Our conversation, the air, the sky, the light and the scenery were spectacular. It seemed that we were in a warm, fuzzy bubble, traveling through an alternate universe of beauty and radiant energy.
As we cruised along the relatively vacant blacktop, I kept an eye on the landscape and began to gain a new appreciation for the charm of this lonely valley. The precious morning light was beginning to illuminate our surroundings with an effeminate apricot glow. The curvaceous valley floor entranced my senses as it seemed to ebb and flow like gentle waves on a body of water. Rare clumps of stunted vegetation were but brief glimpses of smudged rouge with sage green highlights The usually coarse cliff faces and jumble of broken boulders at their base were softened and smoothed by shadow and refracted early morning light. Undulating lines of sediment, frozen in time, flowed delicately across their surfaces like sheets of ruffled silk.
Serena Supplee Watercolor
Just before the sun broke over the horizon, Laurie and I were graced with a vision of the snow covered flanks of the La Sal mountains, situated behind, and rising abruptly above, the now lighter and passionately pink valley. The contrast between the brilliant uprising and the subtly demure valley easily took our breath away. The mountain peaks shown with a blue-white neon glow that was frosty and inviting at the same time. A faint peach aura enveloped the mountain and rose to a swirling, twisting crown surrounding the highest peak. A small number of twinkling morning stars were still visible like droplets of dew clinging to the heavens.
It did not take long before the sun exploded onto the scene and the visage began to dissipate into the bright winter sunlight. The gentle spell of dawn was broken, only to be replaced by a more realistic interpretation of the countryside through less romantic eyes. Dawn and dusk seem to me to belong to the more feminine aspects of our world, while day and night more masculine. The ever changing face of nature never ceases to inspire my mind and imagination.
Serena Supplee Watercolor
Before long the kids began to restlessly move about, and the familiar sounds of sibling rivalries echoed to the front of the van. The prospect of spending Christmas cash and the certain knowledge that their aunts, uncles and cousins would spoil them beyond belief raised the level of excitement to unmanageable volumes. I looked into Laurie's smiling wintergreen eyes and remembered what life was like before parenthood. It is a place I would like to revisit from time to time, but I would no longer wish to live.
With Warm Regards,
Barry, Steve and the Team.
Copyright 2006 Twin Rocks Trading Post
No comments:
Post a Comment