The Gorge- -
Along a dirt road to the left of a small town in the bowl made by mountains before the pass and after the last sign of New Mexico.
A small river of gold
flowed through the crags
in an ever-deepening valley
of fluttering needles and leaves
The sun and her earth have a beautiful partnership.
Golden rays paint hillsides to create natural masterpieces not to be replicated by human hands
Boundless quiet and stillness everywhere, yet life’s silent shout bursting from every blade of grass.
Gold-lined river paired by evergreen towers rising to the left and smoldering-orange scrub climbing the hillside to the right.
All tucked perfectly in the hidden space of this unnamed valley.
Not a sound but that of the valley’s waterfall and the frequent visits of the wandering wind poking his nose in the valley just to make sure his presence is known and familiar to anything taking note of his passing.
To be human in a place so resoundingly earthly is to momentarily balance between the civilized, concrete-familiar man I am and the piece of nature still coloring my soul with a resonance only achieved when in a valley such as this.
The frozen beauty of this tiny yet grand view into nature’s heart begs you to remain one moment more than this one.
And still another.
But sadly, a heart can only be so full and now mine is. So I move on.
Originally published on Storiesfromtheroad.life as a part of a series on unnamed locations I visit on my travels in my self converted Ford Transit van build.
