Coyote Buttes

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.

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