~ Kiva Ladder ~In a remote area of Utah, called the Grand Gulch Primitive Area, there are numerous ancient Native American ruins. I took a hike out to explore some of these remote and amazing dwellings in the fall of 2012. Even though I had a good idea where Perfect Kiva was, I passed right by it, as these dwellings blend into the canyon walls so well. When I finally found this Kiva, I was not disappointed, and standing in this circular Puebloan ceremonial hut, was quite an experience. I framed the photograph to catch the late afternoon rays of sunlight, which highlighted the dust in the air, and turned the inside of the Kiva this rich red and gold.
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In answer to our prayers she came,
Claiming the land as her own.
Bellows of whiteness blinding our vision,
So welcome was this loss of sight.
A trillion tiny white angels,
star shaped and intricate in their uniqueness.
Upon the earth formed mounds of
Suffocating the land, yet offering life.
Protecting the spring buds from cold,
Yet cold she was.
Cold enough to warm the heart.
White enough to brighten our souls.
In 2000 – 2002, Colorado experienced drought conditions. I wrote this poem in 2003 one day, when I was sitting and remembering the first snow we received, that marked the ending of that drought.
Roxane Whalley ~ March 19th 2003
~ The dawn of a new kind of war ~
Women’s Writing Group – January 7, 2011
At this meeting we were asked the following question, and told to write about anything that came to mind, in 15-minutes or less: Remember when Eight Crayons Were All the Colors You Needed?
The first thing I thought of when I thought of a box of crayons, was how uncomplicated things were when I was a child, and how complicated they are as an adult. I strive to live a simple life, but in this culture it’s difficult, even for me.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I just wanted a simple, relaxing trip to the Grand Canyon, but first there was so much to do. There was mail to put on hold, things to pack, camping gear to repair, food to stock, oil changes for the vehicle, tire pressure to check, maps to study, cash to withdraw, and the list never seemed to end.
Finally, I was ready to go. I’d decided to take this trip because I was so in need of getting away from society, consumerism, and the daily rush and grind of every day life in the city. My body was craving silence, simplicity, open skies, nature.
I recalled those days of childhood, when everything was so simple. I found sheer delight in a box of crayons and a piece of scrap paper. A puddle would turn into an ocean when I put my paper boat on it, some logs in the woods would be my castle. I craved a joy that simple. Something that required no effort to make it enjoyable. I just wanted the joy to be there, with no planning.
The first part of the drive to the Grand Canyon was fraught with tension, interstates, signs, trucks whizzing by, signal here, switch lanes, shift gears. It all seemed like so much work, so complicated, too much for the mind to handle all at once. My brain screamed as another big rig whizzed by me, and buffeted my little jeep. It wasn’t until I turned off the interstate and started along the back roads of Utah that I began to relax. I had chosen an indirect route to the Grand Canyon, hoping that driving for a few days first would help me to unwind; prepare for the anticipated moment of sheer grandeur.
It was surprising what I found. My goal had been to reach one of the Seven Wonders of the World, but as I drove through the Utah back roads, and the red rock and desert unfolded around me, I found that my goal to reach the Grand Canyon faded. I had craved simplicity, I had craved joy in the moment, and as I relaxed into my travels, I found that each new road held its own form of joy. There was a new wonder around every bend, and I learned that I didn’t have to drive to a grand view to find beauty, and simplicity, for it was here, all around me. All I had to do was give it a chance to enter my soul, right here and now.
Roxy Whalley ~ January 7, 2011
Winter at Bear Lake - Available for purchase at Images by Roxy
She blankets the world in a white shroud,
turning sharp edges into erugate shapes.
The stuff of the earth, disguised by white crystals.
What lies beneath the rounded mound.
With the wind she swirls and dances,
With the suns rays she melts into the rivers.
In a humans hand she becomes a hard ball,
flying through the air at its target.
Driven upon she turns icy and slick.
She has many faces and comes in many forms.
In Alaska she has many names.
Her appearance can be welcomed or feared,
She will always be female in my mind,
Capable of soothing the soul, and easing the eye with her beauty,
or expressing rage and throwing icy daggers.
Like a mother, she can bring life,
but if disrespected,
she can also take it away.
Roxy Whalley – Drafted in October 2009 – Completed in July 2012