Beyond Cuckoo

Gila National Forest

After climbing to 7500 feet above sea level, we found weather—cool, clean, negative ion charged weather—relief. No problem social distancing here. A few locals had the same idea—escape the heat and lollygag around a sheep meadow surrounded by rock walls and green fields.

I remember the sheep meadow (sans sheep) in New York City’s Central Park—a hangout for sixties teens with its free rock concerts and lecherous flashers, perched behind granite boulders, awaiting unsuspecting subjects. Even then I craved open space and a way to breathe; to clear my head. In NYC that meant find any patch of grass, trees or flowers intentionally planted as a park. Now guess what? Despite myself, I have made it to a wild place, with all the room I cannot possibly see in a lifetime. Go figure. Karma, divine intervention, luck, could be any or none of the above. Someday I might get it.

Four bands of Apaches call this place home—they say since the beginning of time. Their time stood still as prisoners of war. Once released some land was returned, but dignity, once lost, is hard to regain, yet not impossible. It’s coming around again.

Time means little to me. I prefer the now all at once. Still, as I gaze at the chiseled peaks, I see rocks of eternity. Is it?–can it?–really all be happening at once? Too much for my limited brainpower but probably true if you believe the Quantum Physics crowd.

Anyway, last night my husband Blake and I sat in awe beneath the thunder and lightning storm; watching a light show that had one up on those that took me back to the Electric Circus and Greenwich Village of 1969. Never in a million years (there’s that time thing again) would I have thought I’d be here, now. Yet here I am. Enjoy!