I wrote this last year on the Signal Fire trip to Northern Arizona in Speing 2015:
The sun is going down and the vibrant sages and oranges of the canyon and brush are slowly changing to soothing greys.
It is so quiet here. I feel like my head is the loudest sound in this canyon. I can hear the hum of my brain’s generator.
The oranges are now muted tans.
I don’t belong here. I am a trespasser. I hope this canyon can forgive the hum of my brain generator and the sound of pencil on paper.
This is the most silence I’ve felt in a very long time. I wish it weren’t so brief. Aside from the cow lazily making its way across the valley, there is no movement and no sound. And I want my brain generator to go into idle. Even the bright orange of the ravine walls are cooling in hue.