We slowly crept along the Grand Gulch, thick chunks of rock, broken debris crushing under the weight of the wheels. Zigzagging back and forth across intersecting veins of the Grand Wash. Mangled, sun scorched logs and limbs lay displaced, waiting for the next thunderstorm to sweep them down into the Fremont, the Dirty Devil and into Lake Powell – by that time splintered and fragmented. In the washes and up on the banks their ancestors scatter, turned over through time, transformed, petrified into ancient fossils. An eerie relief walking through the desert to see time unraveled in front of our eyes. This barren desert, eroding rock and deepening canyons once a paradise filled with life and vegetation. We walk and drive on a crumbled, silent graveyard.
Following the footsteps of the ancient cultures that dwelled here long before us, is one of the most fascinating learning experiences. From our home in the four corners, to the very edges of Lake powell, stretching north into the fish lake national forest. We follow the remnants of ancient civilization, from cliff dwellings to kivas, fragments of pottery to stone tools and petroglyphs. There is so much history hidden throughout this vast desert terrain. The winds finally pushed us down a scenic route to Central Utah in a valley surrounded by the fish lake national forest, to the Fremont Indian State Park.
There are hidden worlds in everything.
We open the doors, opening ourselves.
To the beauty that sits quietly, vibrating loudly.
We sink our weary limbs far beneath the surface.
Of life. Of love. Of time.
We fold gently like ripples, we quiver, we break.
Converging as one, one flow, one love.
Mystic as the waters
We all know the saying, “life is short” and it definitely does seem like time passes us by so quickly. Rather than focusing on the brevity of time, we believe in the importance of how we choose to spend our time. Are we doing what makes us happy? Do we feel fulfilled with our life choices?
Our first time arriving in Pagosa Springs, we were completely spirited away. The word “Pagosah” meaning healing waters in Southern Ute, is home of the world’s deepest hot springs. We were completely oblivious to all of the splendors of this beautiful area, our only focus was the piece of land that was purchased, the land that would become our home. Upon arriving, our souls were lifted from the small town feel. We followed the main road passing alongside the San Juan river as it flowed exuberantly through the center of town. Winding its way to the main attraction, the series of pools that have been built up and filtered from the mother source. Their crystal clear waters glistening in the sunlight, steam rising into the cool mountain air. The historical bathhouse rising up over the river, the stunning views of the San Juan Mountains rising up over the valley in a full panorama. We knew in the depths of our hearts that this was it, this was home.
Treasures in fragmented layers litter this terrestrial labyrinth
Underneath scattered, undulated time. The hour glass thrown.
Cracked and splintered, a pedestal for observation.
Gliding along a shelf of cedar, aromatic intoxication infused with sage.
The ancient man still slumbering in sleep, seen from desert to stream.
From cliffs and mesas, mountains and bridges, arches and kivas.
Stands (lies) the test of recorded time.
The smell fades as sand sifts. The eyes glaze betwixt.
We are burnt, scorched in rays of wonder and admiration.
Silently staggering in clay, our feet of the same sheet.
Flesh on flesh, bones on stones.
Who ever said the desert was a lonesome place?
Filled with life, above and below,
Forever linked, soul with soul.
There is magic hidden in the desert oasis. The Henries faded in the rear view mirror, an isolated mountain range as tall as 11,522 ft, towering over the lower desert plateau. A network of deep rutted canyons and winding washes, carved scars on the desert surface, zigzagging their way down to the very edges of the Waterpocket Fold, around and down feeding into Lake Powell.