Desert Blooms

It was late on a cloudy, rainy day in Canyonlands. I could see the mesas stretched out below us, with the deep gorges carved by the Colorado and Green Rivers. It was magnificent, but I groused about the dim light, the misty, hazy view. My pictures would not be nearly as dramatic as I had hoped.

We reached our last stop for the day: Mesa Arch. As we parked in the lot near the trail, the rain started up again. No umbrella, no rain jacket – do we go? I was committed: we had come this far and really, what else were we going to do? But because of the rain, I left my camera in the car. The trail up was an easy one; scent of juniper and pinon were in the air. As we strolled along, the rain was slowing to a sprinkle.

I was busy looking up at the sky, debating with myself if I should turn around and get the camera, when Mary pointed out the small cactus plants just alongside the trail. There were tiny red buds on top of the spiny, flat plants that seemed ready to burst open. The thirsty desert plants needed this rain. Rain drops clinging to spiky leaves offered a little desert mouse a welcome drink. This kind of a day was a blessing for them.

And then we neared the top of the trail. There was the arch – wonderful, magnificent, awesome! The clouds broke up and the sun peeked through. Looking through the span of the arch out into the canyon below took my breath away. For a moment, I deeply regretted not having my camera to record this. A gentle poke in the ribs from my trail companion reminded me that the picture was not the point.

Seeing this amazing vista, this harsh and beautiful landscape, the result of eons of wind and water and moving earth, even as it may appear harsh and alien, it is still part of us and we are part of it. This planet that evolved out of light and dust and air and water is flowing in our own lives. I didn’t need a camera to catch that. As I write this, here in Salt Lake City, I’m thinking about all the opportunities we have to feel this connection every day.

It needn’t take a great canyon or an ancient sandstone arch to remind us of the magnificence and terrifying beauty of creation. And despite the seeming constant rains of mid-June, summer brings us more opportunity to feel the mystery and wonder of the world around us, whether in a city street or a lush green garden or a sandy ocean beach or a shaded mountain trail.

I hope you will use this time to breathe in the mystery of creation and rejoice in its beauty. Even when things are not as we would like them to be; even when things seem to conspire to rain on our parade or ruin our plans; even when events near and far seem to threaten our peace and security… even then we need to look, feel and remember, as the poet Mary Oliver says:

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things. (from Dream Work © Mary Oliver)

After leaving the arch behind and making our way back to the car, I grabbed my camera and made my way back to that small group of cacti. One of the tiny red-tinged buds had fully opened in the late afternoon sun. I hadn’t noticed it before. Was it there the first time we walked by? Maybe; maybe not. But it was lovely and worth the wait!