We walked in during dawn,
red rays on red walls, some
sliver of ancient creation--
desert then and now.
Until the layers gave way to white,
seething toward the sky like teeth,
fangs, an unforgiving world painted
in contrasts. The determined
juniper and sage sprout, unquestioning,
humble plants with little to offer but life.
Below the peak, in folds of
fragmented sandstone, are small
potholes and tanks. In one,
the pale belly of an inverted
lizard faces up, still--
if not for the dark of the water its
white underside would appear
part of the rock itself.

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In early March, we hiked in Snow Canyon. Brandon and I scaled white sandstone on the White Rock Trail, up into wind and butterflies and scant water.

I wrote this (like the last one) on the lift at Sundance in my little notebook, then transcribed to typewriter, then to here.

this is the tank where we found the dead lizard