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16 February 2003

yesterday i walked into the canyon. the sun was shining and it was unseasonably warm for february. i had never been up rock canyon before, though i lived within miles of it for years. and i have loved it for years. it is where the day gives birth to sunshine, the light streaming through the canyon illuminating the rocks long before the sun crests the peaks.

at one point, i saw an old car upside down in the gully along the trail. its bottom was rusted, the tires missing, and plants and the earth have claimed it. the bumper was still chrome and the faded blue door had bullet holes in it. i don’t know how it got there.

as i walked back out of the canyon i stopped and sat, my back to the sun, on an enormous rock. just listening to the wind. the wind in the mountains is unlike wind anywhere else. it speaks in a soulful but delightful voice of the secrets buried in the mountains. it caresses your cheek at one moment and in the next rages against your body.

before i left the canyon, i climbed up to a rock wall and leaned against it, absorbing the strength of the earth, its peace and its solidness. i kissed the rock and thanked the earth for being mine. and then i returned to my world happier.

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