Oasis
Driving three thousand miles across six western states teaches me again the beauty of seeing the landscape through the eyes of one who seeks an oasis-- a refuge from "dryness". For seven days, my participation in the elements changes-- from being caressed by forms of water at sunrise to being mesmerized by the vivid palette of sunset: rich, expansive, overwhelming shades of red, orange, yellow. The windows of my car are down, and warm, soft, fingers of air caress my cheeks. Dark clouds pregnant with rain gather and water breaks, blessing the landscape with a teasing intermittent refreshment. Momentarily I rest my hand, palm upward on the windowsill of my car, and feel the rain gently pierce my lifeline...a desert sacrifice. No wonder Edward Abbey loved this arid landscape. Paradox. Simultaneously a reward and punishment. California, Nevada, Arizona, Utah, New Mexico, Colorado all remind me of my legacy
From my mother: I am a seventh-generation westerner, a marginal elitist suspicious of life east of the 100th meridian
From my father: I am a storyteller, buffalo dreamer, keeper of prairie secrets, an ordinary Indian with memory to spare.
