Sunrise, Goblin Valley, UT
I awoke before dawn. A sliver of a moon hung low in the sky. The faint glow of the distant sunrise lingered on the horizon. In the faint light I could make out the outline of the mighty La Sals. I felt a sense of urgency, of longing. I miss those mountains. In between them and me was a vast, unseen trench. The maze.
Behind me the Henry mountains were trying to catch the first morning light. I sat quietly. The silence was heavy. No wind, no voices, no birds or insects. Absolute and utter silence.
I climbed a sandstone dune and just watched. And listened.
As the light rose, I looked to the horizon longingly. A desire to immerse myself in the depths of the White Rim, or the thick pines of the La Sals overcame my thoughts. I wanted to lay eyes on Monitor and Merrimac, Delicate Arch, and Milt’s Drive In once again.
And while it has not been long since I last was in Moab, it feels like it was all a part of another life. It was not me there, was it? Certainly the person writing this was not the same who once rode the Kokopelli Trail? No, it can’t be.
The light is now bouncing off the pink sandstone. The scouts I am with are stirring below. Some of them climb up to the point I am sitting at. I am already missing the silence.
But we are having a good time. Later we would explore the alien landscape of Goblin Valley. An odd array of phallic monuments. A miniature Bryce Canyon. But still, those distant La Sals continue to catch my eye. They are symbolic of that magic and mystery of the entire region. Sentinels in a sea of sand. And I again realize the intensity of my affection for Moab, and the desert.
Indeed, it is desert season. The snow and the wind and the cold will blanket the Wasatch. And I will flee to the deserts of Moab and Saint George. Physically or otherwise.
Somewhere, that person from that past life exists. And he is dying to once again ride the horizon.