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We went out to the west desert again yesterday. It was such a bright, sunny, and clear day thanks to the wind. January first. Everything was new. It�s a new day like any other but the changing of the calendar changes the way I see. My eyes are reborn and I see differently. We parked the car and headed out past Saltair toward the water, like nomads hunting for water. We were drawn, like Melville says, toward the shores, when in the dark Novembers of our soul, toward the immense difference between land and ocean. This isn�t a regular shore. It�s the Great Salt Lake. And its name is anything but hyperbolic; you can see this lake from the moon. Walking along the desert, the ancient floor of a lake that once encompassed all of Utah, parts of Idaho and into Nevada, the Wasatch mountains loom in the distance reminding me of the once rocky shores that our ancient ancestors must have wandered to when they reached the November of their souls. The desert is life reduced to its most basic elements. Dirt. Air. Sometimes plants. Sometimes animals. And in this strange place, big water. The desert�s space and immensity liberates Celeste and me fully� Like we�ve been placed onto a new planet, a new Adam and Eve and asked to discover and explore. Without even so much as a word, we decide to get dirty and explore. We wonder off in our own directions, lured by different wonders. I�m carrying our camera and can�t take my eyes of the dazzling details, stark and alive. The desert shows me its quiet secrets. I take another shot. And another. And another. And . . . . I pause only for a minute to pull up my bird-watchers binoculars to see Celeste, her bright red coat, kneeling on the shore. Is that water in the desert? Is it an illusion? Can illusion happen in the winter?
Winter Illusion [2005-01-04]
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