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June 15, 2008
The Goblins and the Mushrooms
I figured I had a little time for exploring on this trip, so instead of staying on I-70 I deviated and went south. To Goblin Valley. I'd been there once before, twelve years ago, and loved it. So, why not head back.
Even if the rest of the trip is a bust, I figured, cupped in a warm rock pedestal looking up at the moon and the erratic clouds in the dark sky, it was worth it already, for this one night of goblins.
I arrived just as the sun was setting, working quickly to secure a camping spot and then heading off to the Valley down the road. It was as I'd remembered it.
[The following is from my journal. Apologies for the further references to injuries; not looking for sympathy, just wanting to remember. And I think I must have looked pretty funny besides, some chick getting out of this huge white truck in a skirt and then gimping out alone into the wilderness.]
I entered the valley as the valley entered shade, the sun going down behind the western hills, its golden light on the red rocks inching farther eastward as I chased it. I hurried down, hurried in, walking more or less as fast as I could on my stiff Achilles, trying not to stop to take too many pictures before I got to the light, so I could take a picture of myself with it. Or try. Hey, look at me in the waning light in Goblin Valley.
Then, I explored, pushing farther back in, moving with the light, walking into the maze of washes and up, up, trying to get a view back out, pulling and pushing carefully against my bruised rib as I climbed.
I had a moment when I was climbing down from the palace in back, all spires and staircases and curves. I was coming down, and I realized something. And I stopped.
Silence. Desert silence. Almost complete silence. There was the sound of creaking in my neck, which I tried to keep still. Every once in a while, the buzz of an insect. And a high-pitched wine, which I couldn't identify, which may have just been the whine of silence. I put my hand flat on a rock--warm--to connect to the forms around me, and I stayed. I sat down. When I got up again, I loathed the sound of my footsteps.
I made my way back down to the valley floor, amongst the goblins and the mushrooms and the frozen mariachi bands. I found a pedestal. A pedestal, or a bowl. I climbed up into it, and I sat down in it, and let it hold me, and I leaned back and looked up at the clouds. I found the first star and I made a wish. I closed my eyes. I opened my eyes and was startled by the brightness of the moon. I noticed light on my knees and thighs; I registered with delight that the light was from the moon. I closed my eyes. I opened them. It wouldn't get any darker. I picked out long moon shadows behind the rocks. I took off my shoes.
When I eventually walked back, I walked back barefoot.
Posted by beth at June 15, 2008 6:11 PM
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