Relevance
Walking along the parking area, I feel the wind gust in my face. My visit is welcomed by Mother Nature. The wind is welcome. I realize the wind, in another time or place, is not always welcomed by me. I resist it. But not today, today it is welcome. I am here as an appreciator of this experience. I am here as a visitor to this place set aside to preserve the works of ancient man. Relative to the life of this land, all we see has happened either yesterday or today. Ancient is a relative term.
Crossing the rutted gray-black pavement, the sandstone orange hues strike me. The stone contours suggest a slope. Intermittent trees block my view of the stone. I walk slowly, carrying my newly prepared cup of coffee, which at first powerfully burns, then warms my hands. I am new here and the comfort of coffee helps ease me into the experience. The trees move in and out of my fixed gaze and there, as though it were meant to be a birthday surprise, appears a drop-off. Sandstone falls away. Where I expected the sunlit salmon sandstone I now see shadowed stone that has become a vertical wall. It becomes a canyon without bottom. I am thrilled at this discovery.
Continuing down the walk, the canyon walls are broken, punctuated by textures that turn into shelves of stone. The shelves turn into keepers of blocks piled neatly into walls. The walls surprise me again, thrilling me in a new way. They form what seems to be a completed space with a doorway. One, then two rooms appear. I continue walking, unsure if what I saw was real, challenged anew by a glimpse of something much larger. Shadows and walls seem to appear, and I’m drawn forward down the walk, inspired.
I approach the openings between the park buildings, where I hope to reconcile my imagination with reality. What I see throws me, but the reality serves me well in that the structure I see before me opens my imagination to new dimensions. The place before me exists on many levels and I am stirred to contemplation. What is the meaning of this?
Road workers come to mind. The construction of the road, the maintenance of the road, it all seems so highly appropriate and amazing to me now. The power of the place justifies the road in, makes those people working as flaggers for the current road construction seem so valuable. They have given me something.
My love for an ancient landscape and the people who wandered it, who shaped it, is kindled. The people of the cliff dwellings come alive because of someone I’ve never known except framed in a car window. They told me to stop to keep me and those fixing the road safe. They kept me safe so I could return to this place some 26 years after this child first marveled at these ancient homes and the canyons which are their hosts. The road flaggers kept me safe to allow me this opportunity to burst into Love for this ancient home.
The road is safe so the myriad of people who work here as rangers and construction workers and computer technicians can be here. They care for this place. The road is safe for them as well. It is safe for me to be here for the same reasons. I have come here to care, to Love. Enriched, I leave this place and thank them all silently, with a wave, with Love for this place called Mesa Verde and all its people, especially the flaggers.
Crossing the rutted gray-black pavement, the sandstone orange hues strike me. The stone contours suggest a slope. Intermittent trees block my view of the stone. I walk slowly, carrying my newly prepared cup of coffee, which at first powerfully burns, then warms my hands. I am new here and the comfort of coffee helps ease me into the experience. The trees move in and out of my fixed gaze and there, as though it were meant to be a birthday surprise, appears a drop-off. Sandstone falls away. Where I expected the sunlit salmon sandstone I now see shadowed stone that has become a vertical wall. It becomes a canyon without bottom. I am thrilled at this discovery.
Continuing down the walk, the canyon walls are broken, punctuated by textures that turn into shelves of stone. The shelves turn into keepers of blocks piled neatly into walls. The walls surprise me again, thrilling me in a new way. They form what seems to be a completed space with a doorway. One, then two rooms appear. I continue walking, unsure if what I saw was real, challenged anew by a glimpse of something much larger. Shadows and walls seem to appear, and I’m drawn forward down the walk, inspired.
I approach the openings between the park buildings, where I hope to reconcile my imagination with reality. What I see throws me, but the reality serves me well in that the structure I see before me opens my imagination to new dimensions. The place before me exists on many levels and I am stirred to contemplation. What is the meaning of this?
Road workers come to mind. The construction of the road, the maintenance of the road, it all seems so highly appropriate and amazing to me now. The power of the place justifies the road in, makes those people working as flaggers for the current road construction seem so valuable. They have given me something.
My love for an ancient landscape and the people who wandered it, who shaped it, is kindled. The people of the cliff dwellings come alive because of someone I’ve never known except framed in a car window. They told me to stop to keep me and those fixing the road safe. They kept me safe so I could return to this place some 26 years after this child first marveled at these ancient homes and the canyons which are their hosts. The road flaggers kept me safe to allow me this opportunity to burst into Love for this ancient home.
The road is safe so the myriad of people who work here as rangers and construction workers and computer technicians can be here. They care for this place. The road is safe for them as well. It is safe for me to be here for the same reasons. I have come here to care, to Love. Enriched, I leave this place and thank them all silently, with a wave, with Love for this place called Mesa Verde and all its people, especially the flaggers.
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