On an impulse I drove south.
South for days.
I came to the lowest place I could think of: Death Valley.
After all, if one is at the lowest place, any move one makes has to be up! There’s just nowhere lower to go.
So I’ve come here to stay for a few days and sort myself out.
The soundlessness is huge. It’s heavy.
So is the air at 282ft below sea level, and that heaviness rushes into my lungs.
I can finally take a deep breath. All the way without that horrible feeling of not being able to breathe.
The enormity of Death Valley is overwhelming.
Miles and miles of sedimentary deposits, huge granite canyons, sandstone, sand, salt…
The sensation here is unlike anything in the forest.
Some sort of power eminates from this harsh, unforgiving vastness.
Hiking here is nothing like the plodding down a green and wet forest path that I’m used to.
Here the danger of being out of cell range and trapped by the heat without adequate supplies is very real.
But the rhythmic dry crunch of the grit and sand and salt underfoot is comforting.
I’m going to stay here for a while.
I’m happy in this silence.
Read: The Wisdom of Donkeys by Andy Merrifield
Listened to: Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen