Colorado National Monument Haiku

Red rock, raven wings,
desert silence. Feathered whoosh
reminds me of home.

There is nothing like the pure dry silence of the Southwest, where I grew up. No city noise means that if I pause, I can hear bird wings in the air. They sound like brooms on dry concrete. During our recent trip to Colorado National Monument in Fruita, The Old Man and I watched and listened to two ravens playing in the January drafts. We were hiking in the snow at 7,200 feet looking over the 4,500 foot canyonlands of red rock formations below.