By Sarah Canelas
Muley Point, Bears Ears National Monument, Utah
October 6, 2018
The weather at Muley Point has been intense—beautiful, but terrible. And very, very wet.
We were caught in a lightning storm, one morning. It hailed and we watched the lightning strike down on further parts of Cedar Mesa. For a moment, in the middle of it, the sun peaked through and two rainbows formed—one a complete arc and the other fading above into the whirling clouds.
Another day, we were trapped in a fog; a mist formed by clouds that flowed across the mesa. It turned the terrain into something labyrinthine—repeating landscape imagery and lacking directional markers. Navigating was even worse in the dark.
It continues to be overcast.
This all seems like a strange combination; the height of the mesa, the familiar desert plants, the cloud induced fog, and the storming skies. It all casts a strange surreal quality to the place. Yet, it all feels immediately—and viscerally—alive. Everything has become vibrant; more real, in some ways, than anything else.
Perhaps everything has woken up. Or maybe I have.
The damp keeps causing a familiar cold to sink into me. I wonder, how comprehensible—how predictable—is any of this really supposed to be?