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.

December 27 - Let There Be Light

Sun beating down on the palms,



we cross the Colorado and ascend into Arizona,



taking in the sights and



sites of Quartzsite.



The miles unfold past saguaro and palo verde, Hovhanessian Mountains Without End, gas at $1.49/gal north of Phoenix, the last giant cacti on I-17 -- to Cottonwood, in view of the Sedona cliffs,



catching the light of the setting sun.

December 26 - Deck the Hallows

A caroler figurine looks out over the prospect of clouds and sun in the San Bernardinos north of the Mission Inn,


where we wake up near the sunshine of the Spanish Patio turrets,



dome,



and nearby mountains.



The clock says it's time to go (watch out for that arrow when marcheth on),



so down the Rotunda, beyond



the arcane arcade colonnade, and



the St. Francis Chapel area



vantage points of the



Jurupas et. al., over the



sacred rooftop passageway



with the northwest dome shining.



Move the car from across the street of the front entrance



arches



to the back and then recircle around this city-block hotel's east-face carolers,



to where Harriet patiently waits.



One last look at the third floor east court,



again looking out towards the Mt. San Bernardino environs



then dallying in the lobby,



before we break for coffee in Yucaipa



with the great John Curtis Browning.



On the road again, the magnificent mountain leads us to a



service station vista,



then views of Mt. San Jacinto on I-10,



where the phalanxes and



lines



of windmills in San Gorgonio Pass



almost redeem themselves,



an army



threatening us



to the north and



and south.



At last, into the preserved desert at Mecca Hills,



proceeding apace with vistas north to the Little San Bernardino



and Eagle Mountain realms of Joshua Tree National Park and vicinity;



south to the Orocopias,



with a cloud canopy over the Chuckwallas.



The rest area in the latter Valley



yields views of McCoy Peak, and,



as the light fades towards the Mules,



we take refuge in a blithe Blythe bar for albondigas and Dos Equis.