Pink and red rocks


Pink and red rocks, spliced and carved and smoothed, forming plateaus and cliff edges, punctuated by layers of aging sediment. The only break in this landscape of lost potentials comes from the dusty blue-gray pools of shadow that sink into each sad sand-caked cliff hanger. Moving eastward now, the dusty rose reds of Arizona or Colorado or whatever this dry state is, slip into the back wing and a line of snow-crispened mountaintops come into view. The sad blue shadows cast along each mountain’s ridges seem less and incidental part of this stark mountain-sky lifescape. Snow capped mountains give way to snow coated valleys and rivers almost but not quite freeze into winter as the plane moves soundlessly and timelessly forward. In a blink, a layer of clouds has slipped over the terrain below; obfuscating the red-orange sun that casts its soft veiled glow onto the thicket of condensed and accumulated water that lines the landscape. Clouds. On and on, she murmurs to herself, confused with what trip this is: her 3rd or 7th. On and on.


{Kuntsrule stories are written by our readers. Share your own at Kuntsrule Submission.}
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