Sunday, March 9, 2008

The Grand Act

It is the sound of silence. The wind has died down and left stillness in its place. Even the screech of free-soaring birds can not be heard. It is not often that the total absence of sound exists. When such moments do occur they are to be embraced. To those that listen the silence has a mesmerizing effect. It is something sacred. Along with the silence is the empty barren landscape, virtually untouched except by eons of blowing wind. Miles upon miles of reddish-brown slickrock, with only an occasional patch of sand or scraggly sagebrush, reaches past the horizon.

In the middle of this vastness is a man. His soot black hair is dirty and disheveled. A scruffy beard hides a weathered face and piercing black eyes. Atop his mop of hair rests a beaten and battered straw hat that droops down over his eyes. On his back is a tattered flannel shirt; an unappealing puke brown color. It smells worse than it looks. Blue jeans, frayed from overuse add to his attire. Finally shoes, to use the term loosely, and a large well-used knife complete his shabby attire. He bought the whole outfit for five bucks at a Salvation Army thrift store. Left behind are the fancy suits, large house in suburbia, flourishing high-paying career, and a growing circle of friends. All his money is gone, and along with it all the other definitions of success.

In the midst of this barren landscape he seems to wander freely and aimlessly. Approaching a small pockmark filled with water he stoops and drinks. Droplets of water fall from his sodden beard. After drinking he dunks his head and then shakes it from side to side; like a dog ridding itself of moisture. As the sun and dry heat beat down, he walks among the rocks, leaving no footprints. Eventually he reaches an uncrossable precipice and gazes at the green water far below. He stands there on the ledge, a solitary figure amid the rugged beauty of this harsh land. Except for the occasional sagebrush, jackrabbit, and rattlesnake there is not another living thing for miles. The only sense of time is the passing of the clouds overhead. He sits down and contemplates the silent emptiness around him. Ever so slowly the sky becomes darker. Rich shades of burning red begin to appear in the sky and is reflected on the grainy rocks. Each moment the land is transformed. There he sits, silently watching, his body silhouetted against the sky. Emotions flow freely and tears are shed. With the grand act almost complete he simply gets up, and with the hint of a smile, walks onward.

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