the trail rose 200 feet, up into sandstone peaks that triangled up to the white sky. it faded to the color of dusty blue felt later.

we hiked on a thick, humid morning. we visited a few trail heads, but this was our first. we mostly shot photos and stopped to put our hands on our hips and breathe deep the view that wandered down into the wild valley below.

dad wore a tee with cut off sleeves. abbie was a nautica model. i can't remember what i was wearing.

later we went back with mom and watched a great pink moon roll up over a lavender blue horizon like a sleepy wagon wheel. there was a deer munching in the brush below the summit. black birds couldn't decide where to land.

taillights were hazy red on the ride home. my limbs were heavy and happy tired. my parents talked and we pulled over to watch the sunset through the windshield. kayaks were strapped to our roof in the middle of the desert. abbie aimed her lens like a machine gun at a goat silhouetted on a peak.

i watched as she shot it. and breathed in and out air that was rich with something I don't know how to describe.

we were gone for almost two months, but there was something about that particular night that made it one of the most vivid of the trip for me. I remember that warm Moab, Utah air rushing in through the open backseat windows. Abbs and I were like two newly adopted shelter dogs, hanging our messy heads out the windows. mom was in the passenger seat, dad had his hands on the steering wheel; i could see the wind dancing in his curls.

we rounded a corner and a motorcycle streaked past my window. no helmet; a ripped tank top filled up like a sail, flapping. he revved his engine and the sound ripped right down the belly of that canyon. the kind of sound you could probably feel in your chest if your feet were attached to that same ground.

"that's like the ultimate freedom" i said. mom reminded me of the dangers of motorcycles, but still got what i meant.

it was so dry. dust bellowed up behind every passing pick up like plumes of smoke. The light played hide and seek with the rock formations, and the shadows of the sandstone walls swallowed us in and out of lower temperatures, looming like giants. we got out at park ave's trail head, and it was twilight and silent. and we were staring down the wash at purples and reds.

and i stood there like the wee, starry-eyed child i be, staring up up up at so much big big big.





there's something about late night drives, isn't there? (and late night cereal eating... but that's beside the point...sorta.) when was the last time you went on one? solo, or with sibs/pals/a dog hanging his head out the window? what's your idea of a fun late night adventure? 

of all the places in this world i've been, the badlands are one of my most beloved. it's so quiet there, so quiet. i'll never forget the quiet. it's the kind of quiet like what the moon would probably have, i think. it feels moon-quiet to me; broken every oft by a cellphone voice or family of four. or seven.

i woke up early for this one, and put on gym shorts. momma had coffee going and i drank some and abbie put on her wide angle. my dad was scruffy faced and talking about the heat probably. the sky was opaque white over top of us as we drove to the trail head. it would shed its skin to a robin's egg blue later on.

we hiked, climbed ladders and rocks, and sweat some. i took pictures of abbie taking pictures, and at the end of it there was what looked like an ancient cave of bats that were birds instead. birds that swam up and dove down again like the thick air was water; messing up the silence with those heaven soaked voices.