It’s a chill, rain washed desert morning. We climbed a foothill at 6:45 am and prayed the Rosary looking out over the valley into the rising sun and the mists it flecked. Now, in our hour of silence I trekked out of the ranch and over the hill up some strange roads to a view of the mountains. I followed the Yellow Brick Road to the Wizard’s Way and found myself a spot—probably on someone’s private property—to contemplate the mountains.
All greys, greens, browns, and a little blue as clouds roll in to shroud the green peaks. Streams of sun burst through the grey and throw stiff white shafts over the mountains into the valley. I imagine though that they might bend and sway if the air wasn’t so still. Only the cold stirs in little puffs. Passersby stir so many watchdogs in the distance, but close is only a jackdaw making a bullfrog clicking noise and songbirds chirping incessantly. Serenity and wideness of scope reign here, and glimpses of a wider world. Soon I must go back to Broken Rock Ranch and later to the city. For now I can reach out with the fingers of my heart and feel the vista, let it wisp on my hand, and catch a tiny part to carry back, tucked deep in the recesses of my soul.
(Photo Credit: Clare McKay)