We are flying somewhere over Arizona and wondering if the mountain peaks below are the ones we will be driving through in a few days time. It looks really hot down below, beneath the clouds, whose shadows flit about like so many dancing ballerinas. There isn’t a single drop of green or blue as far as the eye can see. Only brown earth and patches of black where shadows fill their stony crevices.
It is so barren, so isolated. I would not like to be alone there. One can imagine being alone in some woods but not here. Perhaps its just an illusion of safety that the trees afford but one does not feel so safe nor sheltered in an arid desert.
Many deep crevices run from the base of the mountain, zigzagging across the terrain. They look devoid of water. There is no blue sparkle from up here. No glittering diamonds as the sun plays upon liquid drops. Just dark, black, deep caverns, long since dried out.
Even as I write, we have moved from a solitary line to a forest of mountains. Peaks and peaks of them. Mysterious and forbidding. The undulating rocks look deceptively sandy. I cannot wait to discover them.