John, Walter the Wonder Dog and I spent a weekend in the desert of Rabbit Valley a few weeks ago, before I moved out to that very area.  John needed a break from the stresses of life in general and some rough spots he’d experienced in specific.  I told him that there is no place on Earth that heals a lost soul like the desert.  He’d never really spent much time there, so off we went.

We set up camp, (the RV), on the edge of a little valley, overlooking the green grasses of the spring desert floor.  This time of year, the desert is growing.  Green grasses, colorful desert flowers, fresh sage brush.  The days are a comfortable 70’s with cool evenings in the lower 40’s.  Not a hint of the dry desert heat that will transform this place in a few weeks.

We sat in the warm afternoon sun, quietly contemplating life’s deepest questions.  As we sit pondering, a pair of pronghorns stroll across the open field before us, oblivious to our presence, or so it seemed.  Ambling clouds drift across the sky casting shadows across the valley floor.  The antelope move in and out of the shadows, stop and graze and move on.  Stop and graze and move on again.  After a time, they move off into the distance, their white backends faded into the sandstone rock on the other side of the little valley.

Life in this desert paradise is all around, especially this time of year.  All you have to do is stop and look and watch.

I see a thousand photographs here, one image after another.  On this day, this quiet, peaceful afternoon, my camera sits by my side, quiet and dark.  No light passes through the lens, the sensor records no image, no information.  Nothing photographed except for that in my mind.  I find this happens often here in the desert.  Images come and go, passing without stopping.  Fleeting moments of light, shadow, color and texture, gone without capture.  These are times when I look and experience this wondrous world without the worry or the duty or the need to stop a moment in time.

Saturday we hike the rim of McDonald Canyon, a first for John.  He has only witnessed a canyon from the window of a car.  We meander along the rim, stopping from time to time to look and watch the canyon world.  We are amazed at the depth of color; shapes formed by millions of years of water and wind’s creation of the formations.

Walter’s interest didn’t really hold to the amazing landscapes we ventured into.  His attention was captured by low flying ravens and the occasional cow that grazed along the flats above the canyon.

At one point we sat on the edge of the canyon taking in the sites, sounds and feel of this amazing cathedral.  Red rock walls, green grasses on the canyon floor.  The sky was overcast with a checkerboard of grey puffs separated by thin lines of thin sunlit cloud, a tapestry of grey and white.  We watched a red tail hawk, then 2, float above the canyon.  Catching thermal air rising from the canyon, they effortlessly circle, floating against the patchwork sky.  A splendid choreographed aerial ballet of grace and power.

I was hypnotized by the performance until the trance was broken by Walter chasing a lizard.

Sunday we explored the canyon again, this time below the rim looking up. We followed a dried creek bed into the canyon and were in awe from this perspective.  Shear red rock cliffs reaching up several hundred feet from the canyon floor.  The creek bed took us from sand and gravel to a huge sheet of solid rock that ended in a drop off that form a ‘mini’ canyon.  We ventured into it and were treated to a masterpiece of geological art work.

We ambled on.

Straying from the main path, we wandered into massive washed-out natural amphitheaters, strolled along large patches of tiny desert flowers and eventually to the Colorado River.

That evening we treated ourselves to a couple of amazing steaks done over the grill under a blanket of stars above us.  The stars in the desert night sky are a wonder to behold.  Without the constant glow of city lights, the sky opens to an amazing and brilliant light show.  As we sat and watched the sky, catching an occasional shooting star, John concluded something of which I have know in my heart, but never put into words.

“I came to the desert with problems.  I am leaving with possibilities”

The desert world really does heal the soul.