Color Memory

I’m going to revisit my recent trip to Arizona for this Flashback Friday. My family and I headed into the painted desert in mid-February. One of our destinations was the natural wonder that is Antelope Canyon, named for the herds of pronghorn antelope that used to roam the area long ago. It’s a slot canyon located in northern Arizona on the northwestern corner of the Navajo Nation, just 5 miles from the Utah border.

Antelope Canyon, or Hasdestwazi  (“spiral rock arches”) in the Navajo language, is famous for its gorgeous sandstone walls carved by rainwater and flash floods, which take on a spectrum of colors depending on the time of day. It is likely impossible to take a bad picture while you’re inside it. Just the kind of thing to inspire a little wander-verse.

Color Memory

The underworld is not black and dark
where the rain has fallen, where the light seeps in,
where the wind’s brush has drawn sandstone into
eddying pools and curving waves.

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There’s a woman in the earth who remembers
the incandescence of stars blooming
the blush of the sky at first dawn burning
to the blue of fire’s heart.

She is hidden underground, dreaming.
She whose hair is sun-tinged, fading to dusk.
She whose songs paint the walls
the wistful color of memory.


 

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8 thoughts on “Color Memory

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