Looking Up

Any time is a good time to look up from the creek bed at your feet to the mountains at the horizon.

David Boyles

The first time I visited Canyonlands National Park in southern Utah, I bought a postcard at the visitors’ center of the beautiful arch you see in the photo above, appropriately named Druid Arch for its resemblance to Stonehenge. The arch is not visible from the highway and requires a five mile hike from the trailhead. On that brief trip I did not have time for much hiking, but I knew I had to return and see it, so the following year I reserved a campsite on the trail for two nights and made my way to Nature’s Stonehenge.

Camping in canyon country is completely unlike a mountain campsite. There is no water, of course, so my pack was heavy with water for two nights on the trail. But the complete silence is what I felt most deeply, a silence that echoed in my very soul, so there is nothing left but contemplation and stillness.

On the second day I headed up the trail towards the arch, the first part an easy level hike up a draw. Those draws however are tricky. They become increasingly narrow and then disappear into a steep rocky climb. The trail was well marked, however, as I began to ascend, and then it wasn’t. I came to a level spot. Ahead of me was a steep rock face that would require some technical climbing skill to ascend. I debated about the wisdom of making such a climb, as I was hiking alone. I knew though that I had to see Druid Arch. I looked for hand and footholds, found them, and began the ascent.

The arch appeared as I looked up to grab a small outcrop of rock. I had reached my destination but completely missed it as I looked around for a way to make an ascent that turned out to be unnecessary. The beautiful structure filled my field of vision as I looked up. The level spot where the trail ended was an obvious viewing point. I sat down and looked up. I looked up for a long time. The view was worthy of my undivided attention, and I so I gave it wholly.

These days it seems that my life is completely consumed by details, those hand holds that keep me from looking up at the world in all of its beauty. I usually go on my first camping trip in the spring to the southwest, when the temperatures are warm but not yet hot. It is a perfect way to begin my season of camping and hiking, and typically when I return home the bluebirds have arrived and the daffodils are in bloom.

Since my husband’s sudden death last fall, I have had to curtail these plans as I get the house ready to sell and take care of the myriad of details that have come my way and the daily grief of losing my partner and best friend. I feel as though I am digging my fingernails into the cliff and hanging on for dear life, afraid to let go. When I pause. . .look up. . . and breathe. . . I notice that the snow is melting, the days are longer, and that there is some blue sky above. I remember the vision of Druid Arch, that I want to go back there, to that place and time that surrounds me with its healing. All I have to do is let go and look up.