Low clouds move with surreal speed along the cliffs above the Colorado River; they swirl, shapeshift, and from time to time, they seem to disappear altogether.
Day will come soon, but until then, the movement of the clouds brings unexpected shapes. Now, a monolith rock emerges from a landscape of slickrock from shifting clouds. Immediately, it reminds me of Hayao Miyazaki's rendition of a metallic, mechanical castle in Howl's Moving Castle.
I do not find comfort on a cold plateau in the dark, and I thrive in the pleasure of company. Solitude pulls at me, telling me to go home. It always has, and it always will.
My traveler's habits – trying to identify animals or learning to find an edible plant – keeps solitude at bay, and over the years I have added habits to my repertoire. But today on the Utah-Arizona border, it is mid-January; and the cold makes the desert north of the Grand Canyon barren. I can expend no habits to relieve the quiet.
Except one. It is something that happens to me in these sorts of situations. And I wonder if it happens to you too? That monolith rock above that canyon wall, I imagine it held up by four mechanical legs. Although clouds make it disappear, I see it walking in the dim light.
I imagine the machine much smaller than Howl's Moving Castle. More like an oversized vehicle, which fits a small crew. Legs, not wheels, because the isolated and rugged nature of these slickrock, scrub and canyon landscapes.
Arizona's Kaibab Plateau remains an isolated place. This region – the Arizona strip, or, Arizona north of the Colorado River, is an immense geography. But only 3,500 people live here; isolated from the rest of the states by the Grand Canyon. Winter isolates this region even more; the North Rim now lies covered in eight feet of snow. It is impenetrable. Even its animals march from the snow. North, to here.
Horseshoe Bend
