Lucky suns and ditches

We plunged zombie-armed through the fabric of night, a homogeneous, untouchable, lightless velvet that cloaked the pines. We groped for a spot to pee, fingers extended, ready to touch god or be obliterated against blackjack trunks.

We felt our way back to bed with cautious steps until we jammed our digits into steel and slid them along the truck’s body, feeling for a door handle.

A last look at the sky through the window revealed towering silhouettes, pine shaped cut outs in the stars. So many stars. None of them ours.

If the sun eclipsed one of the biggest and brightest stars it would be a low watt speck of amber incandescence in a solar system sized sea of blue LED light. Virtually imperceptible. But, at the same time that little mote of orange could swallow more than a million Earths. That’s our star, and it was rising soon.

Meanwhile, 60 miles north, the Grand Canyon sprawled silently in the dark. A wonder of Earth, a shelter, a grave, an ecosystem, a ditch carved by weather and time. But, it’s our ditch and watching the orange speck rise over that ditch is a sight we’re lucky to see. We rolled out of the Coconino and headed toward Kaibab in twilight to catch the dawn properly from the South Rim.

After the solar rim ritual our pilgrimage took us to another ditch. A multi-component site. An overlooked feat of civil engineering that quietly spares the city from snow melt and monsoon floods. A heroin den or wayward home for some. A bordello, prophet’s tablet or canvas for others. For us, the megalith beneath the street was a shrine to the carve, where we paid tribute in turns, offering sweat for joy until lunch.

Head over heels in the Tunnel of Love.