Natural Bridges

May 13, 2009 ~ By Roxy Whalley ~ Natural Bridges National Monument in Utah.

Natural Bridges National Monument, Utah

 

Natural Bridges

Arches carved by water.

A stone bridge that spans a time that is hard for humans to comprehend.

How long did it take the water to work its way through these sandstone walls,

to find a tiny crack and splash and lap its way in,

slowly carving, slowly eroding,

slowly washing away one grain of sand… then another.

A pause of days, or months, before rain, or a flash flood brought more water, which would carry away another handful of sand.

For thousands of years, the water slowly worked its way through the solid rock, and in time changed the course of the river.

 

We humans can build a bridge in days or weeks.

Can we comprehend the eons, the numerous human generations that it took nature to build these bridges.

As I stand beneath the span of stone, it’s solid mass cutting a red ribbon through a blue sky above, I realize that even if we had the time to build a bridge like this, our human efforts would not produce anything nearly so beautiful and spectacular as the Mother of our planet did.

Natural Bridges National Monument, Utah

In Praise of Water

the bears and Yeats would know _ Roethke

I have gone to the river many times,

to the slow waters that curl among their stones

With absolute certainty, to the small voices,

That emerge from the granite’s fissures, whispers

Of the deep pool below the falls, ripples

That pulsate outward, like the blind

Feeling their way through the dark, the first word

Beginning to form, the primal word

Beneath all languages, the utterance of snow,

The silence lurking in the cedars,

The unseen map of the otter’s journey.

 

Was it a bear that I saw one night

Sliding downhill on a cardboard sled

Toward the county dump? He too belongs

To those older waters, to the bog

Teeming with scents at the base of the mind,

The ice on which one ventures out

 

Cautiously, one step at a time,

to those lonely rivers that wonder through cornfields

Like drunks, seeking a passage to the sea,

To the bones that litter the prairies of the Dakotas

Where the wind moans, causing the ghosts

Of Sioux ponies to lift their heads.

 

I know I love best the small

Brooks that come down from alpine meadows

After Winter’s low ebb, wildflowers in bloom

Beside their banks, headwaters of the Colorado

And the Missouri, the trout in them iridescent

As lost jewels. I can sit here for hours

without a thought, watching the water pass by.

A part of me goes out with it.

It might as well be my soul is water.

 

Already it has gone many miles!

Flowing on into the orchards of the lowlands

Whose pale blossoms drift on the current

Like those that once filled the funeral barge

Of an unknown king.

 

By Jay Griswold

Vacilando

In Spanish there is a word for which I can’t find a counter word in English. It is the verb vacilar. It does not mean vacillating at all.

If one is vacilando, he is going somewhere but doesn’t greatly care whether or not he gets there, although he has direction.

ie; Let us say we wanted to walk in the streets of Mexico City but not at random. We would choose some article almost certain not to exist there, and then diligently try to find it. 

From Travels with Charley…

I am vacilando in my life.

This has been my life.

~ Roxy Whalley ~

Gypsy Toes–A Poem

Deeply ingrained

This gypsy blood

The longing for new pastures

Roads

Valleys.

I wish these toes would stop twiddling

Lay still and be at peace.

Though the body is tired

The soul weary

The toes still tap, tap, tap

They try to escape their comfort zone

Their safe encasement

Their protection from the elements

Danger

Cold.

They tap on the door,

Lets go, lets go they call out loud

Lets go somewhere new, unknown

Lets explore, explore.

Lets face the newness

Defeat the fear

Experience something new

Something new.

Lets find that place we haven’t found

Lets find the place where I can rest my weary appendages

Where I can snuggle into the softness,

Warmth

And comfort of home.

It is out there somewhere,

Lets go.

Roxy Whalley – July 2012

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