Poetry Intermission (Part II)

Move, Coast, Repeat (Great Sand Dunes)


Sandboarding down the Dunes (August 2016)

She grips the cube of wax in hand, wielded like a sword

Plopping down on the sand, she quickly flips the board

Then like a desert artist, she draws a spiraling curl

Quite certain of the purpose – intent to give a whirl

She carefully removes her boots and sets them to the side

Then places each foot carefully within the sandboard binds

Rising up, she inches close – the point of no return

Brow is furled, lips are curled, it’s time for her to learn

Knees bent

Begin descent

Faster and faster, her board speeds down the dune

The laughter come unbidden, like a favorite tune

Leaning back, she attempts, a cautious revolution

Wobbly legs and spinning arms become the best solution

The speed now uncontrollable yet joyous all the same

Reaching the bottom now becomes her central aim

Once the focus falls away, her limbs begin to flail

It doesn’t take much longer for all her balance to fail

Poise is lost

Limbs are crossed

Tumble and squeals

Head over heals

A mouth of sand comes spitting out but the gritty feel persists

She warily stands up again and shakes out both her wrists

The long walk back from her wipes-out is sure to take awhile

But up she goes, forgets her woes, shouldering a smile




A Throwback Tale

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Peekaboo Trail

Cairn. I rolled the word around in my head, almost like a chant, matching pace with the sound of my feet hitting the slick rock. Canyonlands National Park in Utah was an adventurer’s dream. I was taking a much-needed break from Arches, the tourist trap only 45 minutes to the northeast. After being run into by one too many inconsiderate photographers, I was looking for some good hiking trails off the beaten path.

The visitor’s center was tiny, showcasing some of the local flora and fauna as well as the particular geology of the park. The list of trails was comprehensive; many were long and remote, boasting miles of solitude surrounded by canyons.

The Peekaboo trail caught my interest; it was an approachable 10 miles and rewarded you with a “peek” at the end of some ancient petroglyphs. I loaded up my pack, double-knotted my hikers, and went on my way.

The sun was hot, but not fierce, and my mind began to wander as it normally does during my long walks. After thinking of something meaningless for a couple minutes – let’s say food trucks – I stopped to take stock of my surroundings. I was off trail… or was I? In forested parks, the trails are well-marked by packed dirt and handy signs every junction. Here in the Utah desert, however, cairns were the beacon guiding the way towards the final destination.

They were also easy to miss.

I soon realized that constant vigilance would need to replace my usual daydreaming m.o. while I hiked. My initial irritation at this concept surprised me. Was I so arrogant that I couldn’t stand to actual pay attention and “work” to find my way? Certainly not.

I plodded on.

For those unaccustomed to the ways of hiking, cairns are piles of rock that vary in size from 6 inches tall to taller than a human. On the Peekaboo trail, the cairns were good-sized, meaning most of them were about a foot tall and easy to spot. It amazed me that someone had taken the time to gather rocks and stack them on top of each other, basically erecting a sign that read “follow me – stray ye not from the path”.

Hunting for cairns in all the right places

So I followed. I put aside my random thoughts about penguins, Lisa Frank, and the invention of soda, and decided to actually pay attention. I eagerly looked for the next marker, confident that some well-meaning and intelligent park ranger would not lead me astray with these cairns.

In the end, the petroglyphs were interesting, yet it was the hike itself that was most memorable. Following piles of rocks for 5 miles in and back felt akin to being guided on an epic treasure quest. Here’s the part where I could throw in some deep metaphor about people in my life who have guided my way, leading me along my quest for discovery.

But no, this is purely about rocks.

I promise.