ARCHES
They had played it just right, returning to Arches National Park an hour and a half before sunset, when the summer sun was now a wondrous revealer of shadows and shapes instead of a raging, life-draining inferno. As the rental car made its ascent up the drive to the park entrance, they intuitively knew that they had picked just the right moment to experience this vast, magnificent place. And they were exploring it together, so that the mental imprint of it would be forever part and parcel of who they were and the life they’d made.
Soon they reached Park Avenue, a cyclopean assembly of massive stone facades, named for the Manhattan street with its stretch of buildings that they resembled. To her, it was sheer magic that she was standing before these walls – the real ones! – which just days ago had been in minute two dimensions on her computer’s screen saver. She saw that he was captivated as well, and briefly entertained the fantasy of descending with him to the valley floor, to sit beside a campfire throughout the night.
But the park beckoned them on, and they returned to the car to continue the adventure. As they drove along, they could hardly believe that this was the same place that 12 hours ago had wilted them into sweaty submission. Now they found themselves giddy, woozy with delight instead of dehydration. Cruising along the main park drive, they felt like they were surrounded by landscapes straight out of Gustave Dorē’s illustrations of The Divine Comedy. Rock surfaces swooped and soared, ascended into infinity and back again. Everywhere were combinations of light and shadow that put to shame the greatest works of the Old Masters of chiaroscuro.
And the colors! The rocks stood illuminated in radiant shades of tangerine, burgundy, scarlet, umber and blood orange. The La Sal Mountains -- snow-capped and wreathed in clouds --appeared violet, charcoal and blue-black in the distance. Patches of lavender, moss-green and sage-colored plants dotted the earth all around.
It was at the climax of this fleeting twilight show of color when they arrived at the Cove of Caves and Double Arch. So different was the area’s appearance at this hour, it was as if they were seeing it for the first time. Double Arch looked close enough to touch and simultaneously so distant as to be unreachable; a non-paradox only because of the trompe l’oeil spaces of the American West. With just one hand, it could be blotted from sight. With just one gaze, it could transport one into a mood, a feeling that could be summoned and re-summoned over a lifetime.
Nearby, Balanced Rock performed its timeless levitation atop a majestic pedestal. Like a sentinel, like a yogi master, always on the verge of perfect enlightenment. They gazed and gazed, soaking it in, never wanting the moment to end. But the sun had returned to Hades for the night, and only a momentary afterglow hung in the air.
They returned to the car, and set out for one last drive. With windows down, the desert chill flooded in. Though the landscapes grew harder to discern in the vanishing light, legions of bats kept them enthralled. Swooping just above the car in choreographed waves, they bid the man and woman good-night. The bats’ nocturnal dance reassured them that this eldritch, untamed place would always be here: in southeast Utah and in their souls.
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