The art of being Californian, it seems, is to cultivate a loose-limbed insouciance while secretly working away like a frantic ant.

--Richard Fortey The Earth: An Intimate History

Monday, June 15, 2009

This Weekend I

used a flashlight to set up a tent under a moonless parachute-sky punctuated by a careless spill of stars

comforted a small child who determined that the quiet creak of bat cries

drifting down from the towering rocks above us signified that "danger lies everywhere"

woke up to the moon rise

woke up to early morning chill because small child had taken all the blankets

woke up to the sunrise

watched the light go from blue to pink to red to orange to gold

huddled with a steaming cup of coffee by a campfire of small sticks and charcoal, trying to eke whatever warmth I could get until the sun's heat struck the desert in a single fierce instant

hiked barefoot up hot red rock cliffs and through warm gold rivers of sand

sipped cold Chardonnay and read while small child played Star Wars vs Transformers in the breeze-blown tent

heard the cry of an actual wind-up bird, winding up the spring of the world

pretended that small child wasn't serious when he claimed to have to go to the bathroom and subsequently had to change small child's wet shorts

fished on the Kern river using a tree branch for a pole, dental floss for a line, and Boba Fett as a lure

failed to actually pop Jiffy Pop over the camp grill

picked up human feces with a baggie

managed to drive from the 14 merge with the 5 to Anaheim and completely missed seeing downtown LA

placed a filthy yet angelically sleeping small child in his bed and then passed out, equally filthy, in my own

continued to be amazed at how much love, beauty, sweetness, and joy exist in this world.

No comments:

Post a Comment