Little Bear Canyon, Gila Cliff Dwellings, NM

I follow the trail north, along the ridge and across the mesa, along a dry, eroding edge, along a switchback and into the canyon. Except for the four hooves beneath me, I am alone.

Boulders and rocks grow into towering walls, some slick and slated – gray like a chalkboard, others porous and curved. A trickling stream runs through and somewhere it becomes the trail. Pebbles and rocks, smooth from years of water, mix with jagged moss-covered chunks from the edge above - oh to see such a fall! In the path, and on the sheer and craggy walls, and between every crevice available, clumps of grass grow, small shrubs and trees even.

The entire world is very rich and green and secret. The entire world is mine.

Through the rock and leaves overhead, the silver reflections of the sun bounce off the stream in places, off the little pools of water which gather at each change in elevation, each pile up of stone, yet none of the rays so broad or direct as to require a shield. Above: blue sky draped in the faintest of clouds; a buzzard coasting, circling, on a wind I cannot hear or touch. It is nourishment, a meditation in and of itself; it matches me breath for breath and all the while the running water, a constant stream of soothing murmurs. Then, as if someone turned on the light, four miles in, the whole thing empties into the Middle Fork of the Gila River and a base of a sandstone spires which stand like a castle against the blinding land.

All of this, and more than I can put words to, is Little Bear Canyon.

I didn’t want to leave.