Sunday, December 28, 2008
December 28 - Wringing Out Adventure
We wake to the chill and beauty of a clear central Arizona morning, light radiating off the snows of the Mingus Mountains, to rendezvous
in their art-filled house (including R's tropes on Picasso and Klimt in the back studio)
with Liz and
Roland March,
Harriet's younger brother, whom she has not seen in more than 16 years.
After a spirited lunch (watched over by L's Mata Hari),
featuring old photographs
of the siblings (note the budding author at the typewriter) and
family (father was a rubber tramp and boondocker [Quartzsite style] before the terms were common -- these are not vacation photos; this was a way of life, as H has written and I have musicized, indeed operaized, in the quadrilic Ring of Harriet... N.B. also the only saguaro cactus in this Arizona account),
we take our leave
and head
for the colorful cliffs of
Sedona (with Capitol Butte
looming over condos; and
Coffee Pot Rock, the Sphinx, and Wilson Mountain lined up like gawking tourists),
first going
uptown, and then way up Oak Creek Canyon, for books.
We return to the last light, by Twin Buttes, of
The Chapel of the Holy Cross --looking like part of a quadrilateral bit of granite below the top of one of the rock formations known as The Two Nuns --
on a hillock adjacent to The Madona (the smaller isolated spire just left of center) and the aforesaid
convent crew,
perched
resolutely.
We ascend the spiral ramp,
to the pastoral promontory perch,
with views of the setting sun, appropriately enough, beaming through Cathedral Rock (Catholic vortex, anyone?)
towards Lee Mountain, Courthouse Butte, and Bell Rock.
The sanctuary altar is as serene as possible,
given the throngs silhouetted in shining cliffs just before the 5pm closing.
Chasing the light south (away from Twin Buttes and a miniscule Holy Crossl)
towards the town of Oak Creek (which is not only not on the stream but not even in the same drainage basin), Courthouse glows
and Bell glowers, despite the latter's vortexational reputation,
yet beckons to be explored from a trailhead,
well-stocked with supplies.
Labels:
Cottonwood,
Harriet March Page,
Liz March,
Mark Alburger,
Roland March,
Sedona