Yosemite

This chamois-curve

of stake and navel,

nipple to bone,

stretched out shin-taut

across a forgotten knapsack,

in a useless shelter ―

so much of my skin

remains desolate.

Take care not to touch

the turgid canvas,

full mouth without a kiss,

pup-tent trembling in the rain,

in a constant state of hope

for Yosemite.

tk/November 2012

Beautiful read by R.A.D. Stainforth... 

*Charis, Lake Ediza, California, 1937, by Edward Weston

Fire Fall I think I love you

photo by Aaron Meyers

I watched an old movie on TCM the other night, and wondered about the fire tumbling over a waterfall in Yosemite.  I'd never seen anything like it.  It looked as if gasoline had been dumped over the falls and lit.  What I didn't realize, is that two weeks out of every year, Horsetail Fall in Yosemite National Park, California, lights up by sunset and turns into a wild thing: "Fire Fall".  On these rare few days, the waterfall catches the setting sun at a certain angle, reflecting bright gold and orange, resembling hot molten lava.  This brief window of light happens every year around the third week in February.

My daughter gave me a lovely book for Christmas, Yosemite, Art of an American Icon, a wonderful collection of photos and essays on Yosemite National Park.  Voices are calling me west.  I feel a long road trip coming on.  If you see an old green Land Rover heading west on I-70 going about 90 mph, it's me.