Fall View
from First Mesa
By Sandra Cosentino
A
sun shimmering day stretches before me in the vastness
of high desert that is Hopi land. More than 80
miles away, yet clearly dominating the horizon at almost
13,000 feet in height, are the San Franciso Peaks which
the Hopi call Nukatakaovi. This
is the sacred homeland of their helper spirits, the
Katsinas. The deep blue basalt flow of Mt. Eldon,
a companion peak reaching 10,000 feet, represents an
ear of corn laying down next to the high Holy Peaks. Floating
mirage-like, distant, they compell the eyes to
notice.
Dust
devil, swirling track of wind, ripples the calm surface
of this sandy xeriscape with its tan color dotted
with scattered green splotches of the small, scraggly
shrubs and widely spaced junipers. A
harsh landscape--most people would observe--with no
flowing water, yet a promised land to the devout
Hopis still growing corn here in the sand after more
than 1,000 years.
Cloud
shadows sporadically dot the land--cumulus stair steps
of precious moisture hang scattered over the Hopi buttes
and mesas. Birthed
from the distant sacred peaks now covered with a moist
umbrella breathing out white clouds that seem to wing
out from the center.
A
flat-topped
line of mesas rise above the desert plain etched with
sheer cliff edges.
Wind, cooled now by fall, presses against my skin,
carrying bits of sand, cools the hot glare of sun on
rocky cliff. Soaring ravens are a constant companion
of these mesa tops; they startle you as pop up over the edge seemingly out of
nowhere. Wind-riding masters and master tricksters, ravens love letting us humans
know they are observing us (or is it mocking us?).
I
look out toward old Walpi sitting on a sheer edged
peninsula of white sandstone across its narrow neck
of a land bridge and feel a quiet so deep. Mud
plastered buildings rise up and seem to be formed from
the cliff itself. They speak of a long ago time. I
too feel an inner quiet that seems to connect me to
a sense of a life way that allows its inhabitants time
to be in the flow of each moment. So unlike our
disjointed modern world life way with our body in one
place, our mind cranking forward, nerves on alert waiting
to breath. No time.
But
today for me is timeless, yet another gift of being
here in this land of the Hopi.
Written
Feb. 22, 2006 based on notes from previous fall I
made while quietly sitting alone deeply observing
and just being. As
I sat there, Faron came by and gifted me with his
poems to share with you. Asquali (female way to say
thank you.)
Hopi
corn field, photo by Sandra Cosentino
This is as tall as the heirloom, ancestral seed, dry-farmed
plants grow. |
