Sunday, February 24, 2013
It was a whisper of snow, just enough to transform the dusty red landscape into a world of tones. Just enough snow to mute the morning desert sounds. Birds eerily warbled, a deaden sort of call. Heavy clumps of snow slid from bushes and melted into the motionless earth. The wind was rallying for a hushed blow. Like Egyptian statues, luminous walls of red rock jutted skyward from mesa bases. The glory of the horizon stunned my eyes into idolizing it; I imagined the skyline to be sculptured figures, robed in rich tapestries. A Carl Sandburg poem, A Sphinx, ran through my mind...
Close-mouthed you sat five thousand years and never let out a whisper.
Processions came by, marchers, asking you questions you answered with grey eyes never blinking, shut lips never talking.
Not one croak of anything you know has come from your cat crouches of ages.
I am one of those who knows all you know and I keep my questions: I know the answers you hold.
I looked to the ancient skyline again, and I too, held my questions. In my silence, the answers came in waves of whispers.