Saturday, January 24, 2015

Live Toy, Dead Toy

"The desert is made for solitude. There is no exchange. No conciliating. No compromise. It doesn’t barter. If the desert shows you something beautiful—a slot canyon filled with light as the sun passes over—it isn’t because it cares what you will think of it. It doesn’t woo or spurn, it has no expectations, it shines without being a mirror, it goes deep without meaning anything profound. The blackbrush isn’t hellish, and the rabbitbrush, also known as chamisa, doesn’t care what you call it, and neither does the rabbit you almost never see next to it. The tumbleweed is stubborn but it isn’t going anywhere decided."

Read my story about the Utah canyonlands, married life, the intensity of dogs and the mad tug of the heart, published, with my thanks to all the good folks there, in the Kenyon Review.

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