forty two

Driving the river road at midnight from Laurel and Rodney’s wedding (yes, they totally went for it) I pulled over with the intent to look at the stars. As I turned the engine off, shut the lights and stepped out into the black of the new moon night I was unprepared for the sound of the Colorado River churning past.  Why hadn’t I thought of the river as I drove along that road that bends and contours to the undulations of such a powerful element? I was expecting just the black void filled with the tiny pin holes of countless stars and the cloudy milky way. Another surprise came with the distinct line of the canyon rim, those red walls turned so black they seemed more endless space than the night sky above. This black encircled me, a perfect line drawn, jagged, like one of Laurel’s drawings. The only thing that kept all that black from turning into a vortex pull was the sound of the Colorado. It’s sound had a direction to it. It was moving from where I’d come and was pushing past to where I was headed. I felt grateful for it and the realization of how little I know about these big rivers of the West.