Mystery

I had an opportunity to visit Palisades, Colorado, a couple of weeks ago, and I was stunned at my first view of Mt. Garfield and the Book Cliffs. Just to the west lies the red rock canyons and hoodoos of Colorado National Monument and its jaw-dropping views, but for some reason I was drawn to the stark beauty of Garfield. I borrowed a car a drove to the Mt. Garfield Trailhead on a warm September morning —- that afternoon I’d see emergency vehicles there, lights flashing, no doubt rescuing some unprepared and dehydrated tourist —- the sun blazing already overhead, and made several shots. I wanted to convey how I felt in that place —- silent, motionless, dry, a place of stark contrast, a sky so blue it hurts, the kind of place I imagine called to desert hermits. Here you’re forced to pay attention to the quiet, to a landscape that’s motionless and ever-changing, a place that allows only the most resilient life to survive.

And in spite of what you might call the sameness of the place, there is the occasional surprise. There’s the soil itself, stippled like a pointillist painting, that from the highway looks beach-smooth. And in this photo, a chunk of limestone lodged in a rivulet from some flash rainstorm. Did it tumble end on end from the top of the hill, following the water’s path? Did it emerge from the soil as rain after rain did its work? Maybe a young boy held it over his head, a show of strength, an imagined Titan, and threw it into the dirt.

The mystery is right there for the seeing.