In the canyon –
and the buzzing chatter of bees
around the fragrance of yarrow blossoms
and mule manure.
A green oasis
and the glint of sunlight on the river,
both impossible to reach in a day.
Humbled by the very ground beneath our feet
(that clings to our ankles and colors our cheeks),
we turn back and gain elevation.
On the rim –
One thought from the mind of God
brought this into being (or not being,
since the absence of earth here is what awes me).
Air above me, air below;
the canyon is full of air and color.
I breathe in deep enough to fill myself;
somehow I am not consumed.
A falcon glides
below my dangling feet,
at home in a place I could not fathom
if I sat on this ledge
for a thousand years.