BTT #50: Driving to the Kolob Canyons with Grandfather, 1987.

On By Lona GyntIn Poetry
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Vermillion Cliffs, Utah.  Photo by Lona Gynt.
Driving to the Kolob Canyons with Grandfather, 1987
∞
He gazed at the
Red light emerging
Above the rocks
As if it were
An undiscovered grace,
While I watched the
Double yellow lines
Weave silently beside us.
Draperies of sand
Billowed and flowed
Along the ridge tops,
Leaping and then
Descending to their rest,
In covens of granular solitude
Dipping and receding,
Each one dancing
With whispered edges
Of the desert’s breath.
When he spoke he was
Stretching his leg
Sore from deep furrows,
And simply said
That God had
Brought beauty
To a desert place.
∞
God looked down at us
As we sped toward Kolob
And saw the shifting sand,
The rugged gentleman twisting
Carefully in his seat,
The lines rolling silently beside us,
And the curvature of the wheel
Resting gently in my hands.
∞
– Lona Gynt, 1990.  Revised December 2018.
∞

This is posted for dVerse Open Link Night, hosted by Grace.  It is the last dVerse prompt before the Holidays, so join us there to fill your poetry stocking.  Here is the link.

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OLN #234 & Holiday Break

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All rights reserved for text and photos to Lona Gynt, December, 2018

 

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“And I saw the stars, that they were very great, and that one of them was nearest unto the throne of God; … and the name of the great one is Kolob, because it is near unto me, for I am the Lord thy God: I have set this one to govern all those which belong to the same order as that upon which thou standest.”   Abraham 3:2-3.  Photo is of the Kolob Canyons, Utah.  Photo by Lona Gynt.

 

 

51 thoughts on “BTT #50: Driving to the Kolob Canyons with Grandfather, 1987.”

  2. Therisa Godwaldt

    Lona, I never got to take a road trip with any of my grandparents. Although, my parents made sure that I saw western Canada, either driving my brother and I, from Ontario west. Fondest memory, somewhere in Saskatchewan, watching a freighttrain pass us, surrounded by wheatfields.

    Or witnessing a thunderstorm, while visiting my uncle, aunt and cousins, in Edmonton, Alberta (1980). How the lightning lit the sky up, like it was daytime. Things never experienced living in southern Ontario.

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    1. Thank you Rob, he was a quiet and gentle man, a hard worker who could fix anything. I did write the first version of this decades ago, it was read at his funeral, but it had never been published. I have revised it a little as I send it into the wider world tonight.

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  5. Such a beautiful ode to nature and its wondrous creations. You caught the awe and sparkle of your dessert as : An undiscovered grace

    This part just speaks deeply to me:

    Draperies of sand
    Billowed and flowed
    Along the ridge tops,
    Leaping and then
    Descending to their rest,
    In covens of granular solitude

    Thank you for your participation and support. Wishing you Happy Holidays and the best of 2019!!!

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  9. Particularly liked these lines:
    In covens of granular solitude
    Dipping and receding,
    Each one dancing
    With whispered edges
    Of the desert’s breath.

    Describes the painful paradox of lonely singularity and comforting commonality we all share – the way to wholeness is to rediscover our connection to the natural world – at least I find it so, and as your beautiful quote points out, the Bible agrees.

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    1. drifting sands, blowing snowdrifts, flocking birds, dancing humans… I like that description “paradox of lonely singularity and comforting commonality.” We are altogether all together, but also we stand alone. Thank you Christine. 🙂

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  10. sanaarizvi

    Oh this is lovely! 💞 I especially love; “Draperies of sand billowed and flowed along the ridge tops, leaping and then descending to their rest, in covens of granular solitude.” 🙂

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  13. What a fantastic thing to experience with your grandfather, Lona, and what a place to explore together! I especially like the emerging red light as an ‘undiscovered grace’ – a beautiful use of words to capture a sense of amazement. I also like the ‘Draperies of sand’ that ‘Billowed and flowed / Along the ridge tops’. I’ve never seen a desert in real life and your words bring it to me on the ‘whispered edges / Of the desert’s breath’.

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  14. Kestril Trueseeker

    It’s a blessing to have such a moment of grace, where all the minute beauty of the landscape is revealed around you, alongside someone dear to you. What a beautiful memory.

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  15. THere is a Certain Time
    And Drive in Life iN
    Distance And Space
    Coming
    Again
    With
    Ages
    Darker
    Through Lighter
    Falling Rising
    Falling Again
    Steering Now
    Vehicles and
    Vessels of Our
    Souls into Moon Houses
    Coloring.. Brighter Suns
    Hi Lona.. Happy Winters..:)

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  17. When visiting Idaho with my first wife back in 1990 or so, I took a few days to drive alone from southern Idaho up to Spokane to visit an old friend from my rock n roll days — the solemn beauty of the great West hymned so tidally for me in that sweeping grandeur that this poem grandfathers that memory … so thanks … And you know how paternals are deeply woven into landscape for me, too. I have a poem from 1988 I still recite, “My Father’s Chapel” which I sometimes wonder if it sang everything I’ve written since. So thanks too for sharing this memory from your own chapbook. An apt solstice poem.

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    1. Yes, I felt there was some paternal tangential symmetries with our poems on this particular OLN, I am glad this grandfathered your own 1980’s desert memory. The western deserts are (literally in paleolpgical terms) expansive oceans. I was raised in Utah and left the first time when I was 19. When I first left I just thought the desert was just a dry ugly place you had to cross to get to the canyons. This trip with Grandpa was after returning from living in green Switzerland for two years and I was enveloped by the desert in a way that had never happened before I had left, and Grandpa blessed me with his one comment about hdesert beauty – he was a quiet man prone more to action than commentary So it really stood out. After living in Alabama for 22 years, I do start to miss the living cloisters of the green Southern woods when I now visit my Western haunts, but the desert is also deep inside me still. Do you happen to have a link to “My Father’s Chapel?” I would like to see it if possible.

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    1. Thank you my friend. We are driving out through those same winter deserts to see my parents and son for Christmas. Will be having some difficult conversations about important secrets with people I love, so your invocation of joy means much. I also hope you have wonder and joy these holidays. 🎄🎅🏻❄️💜🙋🏻‍♀️

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