Green Corner
The following piece is inspired by my 20-hour solo in the Utah canyons during the NOLS Phillips Exeter Leadership Expedition led by Mr. BreMiller this past spring break. “Solo” is when expedition members remain alone in an area assigned by field instructors, where they are out of sight and sound of each other.
Things I Think About When I Sit Alone in the Canyons in Utah on an Early Spring Night
The silence. The beautiful, profound silence, devoid of car honks, human chatter, and electronic buzz.
That nature cradles me between the pinewoods and the giant rock overhang, with the palm-sized cacti by my feet.
The wide stripes across the rock overhang, each stark stripe colored black, grey, white, red, or brown.
The millions of stars scattering and splattering the dark blue sky.
The bare brown branches of an unknown tree that twist fluidly in the air like a still photo of coral reefs dancing in water.
The sunset just a few minutes ago when the thin, wispy clouds, like shredded marshmallows, burned orange. Far away, rings of colors shone against a black sword-blade silhouette that was the mountain peak. Bright yellow in the center transitioned seamlessly to tangerine, magenta, pink, purple, and navy blue.
That the wind starts to blow.
That the wailing wind breaks the silence.
That the dry, grimy desert wind pierces through the pinewoods and my thick layers, and pricks at my nose and cheeks, stripping me of warmth.
That I still have fifteen hours ahead of me before my NOLS field instructor comes to pick me up from my solo tomorrow afternoon.
That I need to sew my ripped hiking pants with dental floss tomorrow morning. How am I going to sew my pants with bare hands if the wind still whips in the morning?
That this wind is killing me, and that I can only shift in slow motion like an astronaut in outer space.
That I pray over and over for the wind to die.
That the wind will surely answer this poor hiker’s sincerest prayer and stop for even a second so she can seize her body warmth a bit longer.
That the wind still whirls on, surprisingly.
That my prayer sounds like monks chanting mantras. No, perhaps a crazed witch mumbling and stuttering a dark magic spell.
That I have nowhere to hide: no glass windows or brick walls, no hotel or café by the roadside to sneak in. I am naked in front of nature.
That the majestic rock overhang is useless to block wind. Is the rock conspiring with the wind? Perhaps the overhang’s shape creates an insidious physical mechanism that whips the wind around me faster?
That I regret my word choice “cradle.”
The palm-sized cacti with thick spikes growing from dry red sand.
My own cactus shaped like a bunny’s ears, nesting in a ceramic pot on my heater.
In the white fluorescent light of my headlamp, a tiny yellow spider crawling towards me.
That I want to jump and flee, but before I can, the spider scampers on, its thin translucent legs beating on the cold red sand, before disappearing into its home.