Greenblade - creation - faith - justice

It was hot but I didn't care. It was also dry and this time I remembered to keep drinking water. I felt good, at ease, comfortable. My friend is an excellent guide, with an encyclopedic knowledge of the land. He kept orienting me, pointing out a mountain or other land formation from various angles, so I always knew where I was, or felt like I did. 

 

Late one afternoon we turned off the main highway and down to the San Juan River, the only river to come through that area. There was a boat launch ahead of us and I remember thinking how strange the whole water/boat thing was, like it was something from my upstate New York world that got misplaced. We turned onto an unpaved road that ran between the river and the sheer face of a mesa. About half a mile down we got out to walk on a sandy, pebbly path among small rock outcroppings and scrubby snakeweed, juniper, and the occasional datura. All across the cliff were jumbled pictographs - geometric patterns, animals, people, in no apparent order and no consistent scale. Scattered among them were animals playing flutes. Rudimentary fencing protected the wall and a sign asked visitors to respect the past but otherwise the images of a much earlier time were simply there, silent.

 

When the path fell off among larger jumbled rocks we turned back down toward the road. Ahead of us, lying on a flat rock in the sun was a little lizard, the color of the stone. We stopped when we saw it and our energy must have been calm and balanced for it did not move. Its legs were spread away from its body, long, elegant "toes" curved against the surface. It looked just like the silhouette of lizards in decorative patterns or jewelry except its head was lifted. We both bent over; still it did not move. One of us said something, very softly, and the lizard's eyes turned toward us. We started talking to it, gently, admiring, and it cocked its head winsomely, evidently trying as hard as we were to make sense of the marvellous.

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