The stranger and I sit in
a haunting stillness. We
are weary and alert here,
held within the immense
womb of the Grand Canyon.
Today I hiked halfway up
from the river at its bottom
where I camped last night
after a long day of hot
steep descent.
In the spreading purplish
inky light of dusk
from high above us,
immense explosions
burst through this quiet,
and echo through miles
of empty space to pierce
the early evening.
Two male bighorn sheep
face to face on the narrow
cliff crash their essential
weapons, curving horns
of thick animal bone
into one another,
great gods fighting for life
and the beguiling goddess
as she awaits the victor
in a nearby cave.
Astonished and entranced
we reverently welcome
such a miracle of the wild
when suddenly a wind
from nowhere crashes
down these majestic cliffs
onto our amazed and
weary bodies,
blows off the stranger’s
wide brimmed hat,
and sends it fast and far
into the darkening night
and the canyon’s open-
armed endlessness,
where our unseen futures,
hidden in plain sight,
await with wryly gracious,
knowing smiles.
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