Thanks for sharing the beauty

CHASING DOWN THE MUSE

“From the mountains, to the prairies, to the oceans white with foam

... “

Dear Connie,

Home from my visit with you for only three days, I am now spending

this Memorial Day weekend at the central coast ranch of friends. The

days here are filled with moments of contemplative silence. In these

moments I reflect on the five days we spent together traveling Utah.

I count among life’s blessings three precious resources: books,

friends and nature. It seems I just keep on getting the best of all

these and our trip was no exception. I call myself lucky.

Here the hills are alive with the lushness of spring. Velvety

greens just begin to turn golden in places. The last rain earlier

this month has prolonged the wildflower color that ranges from yellow

and orange through many pink hues to blues that go from pale to royal

and on into deep purples -- a rich and varied palette. Birds are

everywhere, singly and in flocks.

This abundance is in rich contrast to the desert of southeastern

Utah where we spent much of our time. I am reminded of something the

writer Wallace Stegner said, “To eyes trained on universal

chlorophyll, gold or brown hills may look repulsive.” The Utah desert

has its own vast form of beauty and grandeur. But it is not green.

And one must look hard for the variations in color. Abundance and

majestic beauty are there, however.

As I flew out of Salt Lake City that last morning, the sun rose in

the east over the Wasatch mountains. Snow-capped peaks glistened in

the early light. Springtime contrasts like these abounded on our trip

through parts of Utah. From the red desert rocks of Moab and the

Canyonlands to the snowy peaks of the Rockies; from the warm desert

rain to the chill alpine air of Park City -- we had covered a lot of

territory. As always, I was inspired by the abundance of nature.

The hills here along the central coast are covered with oaks and

pines. The ground beneath is a plush carpet of grasses and

wildflowers. This contrasts sharply with the country around Moab

where we hiked. There, the red dust that covered our boots was home

to a different variety of plant and animal life. Up Negro Bill Canyon

we saw red rock cliffs and towering arches, flowering cactus and a

few hardy wildflowers. Along the slow-running creek grew plants of a

hostile environment, including a lot of poison ivy.

Here in the central coast valley bees sound their steady buzzing

hum through the red clover as I walk among dandelion, pacific pea and

the occasional Chinese houses. The hum is a small part of the chorus

of bluebirds, woodpeckers, tanagers, goldfinches, flycatchers, kites,

and more. There, lizards scurried from rock to rock seeking

sustenance and we heard only the cawing of ravens and the sweet call

of the canyon wren in the dry dust of the desert. Still, abundance

reigned, if only in the breadth of the vistas, the inhuman scale, and

the strong sense of geological time.

Here, I can see and hear much and am filled up with the springtime

magic of new life in all its abundance. Oddly, though, I think back

to the sounds of the wind in high mountains and the lone canyon wren

singing in a dry, dusty red canyon. Here, I am torn from sleep by the

gobbling conversations of turkeys or the call of a magpie or the

rat-a-tat woodpeckers at work. There, morning eased upon us in

magnificent silence. In both cases, I am left feeling full and rich

... and wanting more.

I want to thank you, Connie, for the tour of Utah and all that it

offered. It makes nothing here less; only accentuates the abundance

that is this wonderful country in which we have freedom to roam.

Thank you for Sundance, for Park City, for Moab, for Salt Lake City

library, for drives through vast open space, for the stories, and for

inviting Leslie in. Thank you for your unfailing generosity of

spirit, of time, of energy, of space and for sharing your life with

me for those few days.

Sometimes nothing is enough and I want more of life than is left.

Often I find myself filled with impossible longings -- to return to

old friendships, to have what I cannot, to be where I am not. Thank

you for filling that void for a while and for reminding me, too, of

all that I have.

I think Thoreau stated it well when he said what we could

reiterate: I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life.

... For just a few days, we shared that experience. Thank you again.

* CHERRIL DOTY is a creative living coach, writer, artist, and

walker who lives and works in Laguna Beach. Contact her by e-mail at

[email protected] or by phone at 251-3993. Your comments are

appreciated.