In search of sunlight

(From my journal Dec 18th)
Moab, Decemeber...  Decembrrrrr... 2011.

It's cold and dark in the desert., but not too cold or too dark.  It's quite bearable in fact and even darn right pleasant.

Last night it was mid-20's, today mid-40's.  Cold enough to keep most folks away...  Just the way I like it.  This has probably been the quietest few days I've ever known.

The sun rises late in the morning.  He too has a hard time getting up this time of year.  He too can't seem spread as much warmth.  He seems rather passive...  Counter-intuitive to his reputation as "the ruthless desert sun."

Wise men don't criticize him for it though.  They know he's just distracted, a little worn out even.  Spending time with those in the southern hemisphere.  He's not lazy, it's just that there's only so much he can do at once.  His job is his and his alone.  There's no one to assist him in his duties...  I bet he's lonely.

This morning Sadie and I slept on hilltop so we cold be with him later (and earlier).  He was welcome company.  I can only hope we returned the favor. For now we're enjoying the best the big yellow plasma ball in the sky has to offer.  Sunning ourselves like lizards on the Entrada sandstone.  150 yards away from the petrified paw prints of our long-necked, quadruped ancestors and just 50 ft from the border of Arches National Park.

Rocks.  Perhaps they love the sun the more than any other and they seem to absorb it best too.   They basque in its' warmth every second they can.  Like the sun, they are not selfish.  They share freely the warmth they are given to anything that may enjoy the calming heat.  You'll not see them shed their leaves in protest of the inevitable shift in attention either.  Simple and pure gratitude.

Ravens too love the sun.  Their black feathers, eyes, and beaks.  Even their feet are designed to absorb as much of it as they can.  They flap and soar in the subtle winter thermals.  Their wings making sound of a dog, panting when it's hot.

"Honk, honk."  they call to each other.  They do not "kaw" like some might believe.  That is a work of fiction which the bird does not regard.  Instead, I like to think they have more a mind for Uncle Abbey.