Evening above Copper Canyon.
I reach into my word basket to get it on paper and it is desperately empty.
There is not much that that is truly iconic in Copper Canyon except these first and last bits of the day.
The sun (el sol) leaves just bits of yellow on the cliffs and evening emerges.
All is remarkably silent and immense, fully awash in a very present push of color. Deep purple, huge green, smoke.
The reassuring ancient calm of Tarahumara civilization – which seems presently to be more civilized than anything back in Philly…way more.
It is not actually silent. There is the wind moving the dull mountain smells. The distant clanks and calls of Raramuri homes. The forlorn moan of the train, a freight? The coyotes sing in with eery whines and their playful chitter chatter. Are they happy or sad? Neither I guess.
All is your’s…6000 ft up and down. Horizon to horizon. Flooding. Reinvent “big”.
Celebrations are easy to come by here and this is one to embrace.