Aug. 11, 2004 - 18:45 MDT

THE WONDERING JEW

Time Out

Now and then as the world spins apparently out of control to my eye, I long to return to:

This child's eye,

Which sees the world,

In its glory,

As a being hurled,

Amid the huge story,

Trying to understand,

Figure out the players,

See the great, grand land,

And, learn to say my prayers.

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It is summer, the weather mild here, before the heat once more descends upon us. The world is green, flowers bloom, bees buzz and birds fly, powder puff clouds in our sky and occasional showers of rain refreshing us all.

But the campaign is on, the excitement builds and we forget the things that we love and love us, it seems. Hard to curb my mouth, and sometimes am brought up short and reminded to consider another's thoughts and feelings.

There is a place I go to now and then, away from it all. A place that exists yet in my memory as it was then. No cities and vehicles far below on the road south, barely visible.

It had a road up on the tips of ridges from the valley floor that was scary to say the least, but navigable by most any vehicle that had gears. Then through an electric gate into a land of peace and quiet. On the weekends then the rest of the employees would all take off, most of them going to Las Vegas, and I, the Mesa was mine. Looking for arrowheads, petrified wood and any animal or bird life becoming active when quiet descended. Carrying binoculars and lunch with water. Spending most of the day wandering the bush, only becoming civilized enough to go to my comfortable bed at night.

Being there was almost like going back to the wonders of my childhood. Maybe that is why I retreat to that wonderful place when time permits. My transportation is by teleportation of course, which also takes me back to the time I was there. I have built my imaginary log cabin right on the edge of the mesa, where I can look out the windows at the mountains rising from across the valley floor, Stocked it well, I have, with every needed thing including room and bedding for guests and food stored too. Tonight I will watch the sunset on distant mesas, feel the night breeze blow gently my hair, watching the streaks of red going toward St. George, and streaks of white lights coming the other way, down on the valley below.

Maybe just for the night but maybe more it is as it should be for me it is a Time Out . . . . . . .

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