A report from the real world:
Last weekend, Conrad and I camped in the Utah outback, somewhere near the Ed Abbey memorial site. It is a region of vertical red rock cliffs, sloping crests, waves of sandstone and sand pockets where asters bloom among the yucca. Ravens cruise overhead. Cliff swallows careen through convoluted stone chasms.In a few rare spots, water trickles from the joint between the Navajo and kayenta sandstone, working its way down the smooth cliffs. They glisten in the sun. The seeps feed lush hanging oases on the cliff sides and streak dark lines on short sections of white rock.
A severe drought is continuing there, with ephedra and yucca especially suffering. But where we stayed above one of the tributary canyons to Courthouse Wash, the ephedra bushes are merely a sickly yellow-green - they aren't blasted, with most twigs fallen off, as the ephedra were last month in the San Rafael.
All weekend the winds were strong, gusting, and the sky clouded over periodically. I was sure it would rain.
Meanwhile, the desert continued its long cycles. Prickly pear were blooming everywhere, and I wonder if insects are truly color blind or whether the iridescent silky luster might not stir some sense of proto-aesthetics even in gnats.
The prickly pear color is nearly indescribable. These cactus flowers come in two main tints: sort of a bronze peach and the more common glossy yellow.
For a while it seemed every unopened bud must be of the peach variety, while on the same broad leaf there would be a dazzling yellow blossom or two. Then I decided they must turn yellow as they open.
Unusual fluffy pink flowers, like something out of Dr. Seuss, bobbed rhythmically on stems above the mat of leaves. The claret cups weren't open yet, though the buds were promising.
Concerning violets: They were so dark and vibrant that I am tempted to call them ultra violets. A couple of sego lilies jolted straight up on bare stalks, petals blown together so that I touched one to reopen it. The wind shredded giant white datura flowers.
A leopard lizard skittered across the ground in front of me, stopping beneath a tangle of dry white juniper brush, where it may have sensed that its broken patterns blended with the sunlight and shade. I advanced slowly, taking a picture with every step until I ran out of film.
It lazed there, cocking an eye toward me, relaxing even when I was so close that the lizard filled my focusing screen.
A curmudgeon mouth, fitting for this carnivore that sometimes eats smaller lizards. The face is a bit like an iguana's. Hooded eye, unfathomable black depths. The nostril toward me looks like it has a minuscule tan washer around it.
General color impression: brownish on top, gray on belly.
The back is covered with black spots of varying sizes, interspersed with half a dozen narrow yellow bands from forearms to legs. The spots and bands continue on the tapering tail until they merge into alternating dark and light rings. The tail is its longest part.
The forearms spread balancing on the earth, with fingers and tiny translucent curved claws pressed on a clump of debris. The scales of its forearms are a rusty yellow. For the moment its back legs are splayed, relaxed, with knees flat on the ground and feet stretched against the tail.
With a sudden gust, its black eyes pop open and it haunches, prepared to skitter away, but then it realizes this is only the brush rattling. It stays there. I back away.
That night, the sky was threatening, with masses of clouds and heavy winds. I was certain it would rain. But it didn't.
In the hot morning, the sky had cleared and the moisture was gone from the air. The yucca blades were still turning yellow at the edges, and the ephedra still waited for rain.
Later in the day I had to drive back to Salt Lake City, return to this shadow world of exploitation, betrayal, veiled words and secret motives. I wonder when I will go back again.
Like the ephedra, I am waiting for rain. I don't know if I can hold out until it comes.