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Bitter Water

Wahweap Bay, AZ
Lake Powell has always been contentious. For those who loved the landscape it put Glen Canyon, a national treasure, under water. Countless places lost, or so difficult to get to that I, for one, will never see them. For four Southwest states it provides water for drinking and agriculture. Countless lives enriched and probably rescued from desert obliteration. It is the conundrum of wilderness lost versus the needs of mankind, sweet water for some, not for others. On another in a long string of dry mornings, I woke this morning hoping for a good sunrise over the desert lakescape...it was not to be. The rising sun simply blasted forth in that cloudless sky, devoid of drama. But when I turned to go, I saw the object of its affection, the badlands stepping down into Wahweap Bay. Now the sedimentary layers burst forth, walls cracked and pitted after calving into debris fields that soften the transitions downward, the darker armor of patina glowing in the early light still racing across from the East. The long shadows would be cool for a while in the autumn air; I would avoid them now and wish for them later. I once glowed like that, I think...flush from the warmth of your star, I fell into a helpless orbit around you, alive and vital until my richness evaporated and my waters turned alkali, and I drank anyways, for as long as I could. It is nature, I guess, to use each other, neither realizing the toll on the other, until it is too late. And after a time, all that is left is bitter water.

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Bitter Water
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©Ray Palmer no rights without permission
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Wahweap Bay, AZ<br /> Lake Powell has always been contentious. For those who loved the landscape it put Glen Canyon, a national treasure, under water. Countless places lost, or so difficult to get to that I, for one, will never see them. For four Southwest states it provides water for drinking and agriculture. Countless lives enriched and probably rescued from desert obliteration. It is the conundrum of wilderness lost versus the needs of mankind, sweet water for some, not for others. On another in a long string of dry mornings, I woke this morning hoping for a good sunrise over the desert lakescape...it was not to be. The rising sun simply blasted forth in that cloudless sky, devoid of drama. But when I turned to go, I saw the object of its affection, the badlands stepping down into Wahweap Bay. Now the sedimentary layers burst forth, walls cracked and pitted after calving into debris fields that soften the transitions downward, the darker armor of patina glowing in the early light still racing across from the East. The long shadows would be cool for a while in the autumn air; I would avoid them now and wish for them later. I once glowed like that, I think...flush from the warmth of your star, I fell into a helpless orbit around you, alive and vital until my richness evaporated and my waters turned alkali, and I drank anyways, for as long as I could. It is nature, I guess, to use each other, neither realizing the toll on the other, until it is too late. And after a time, all that is left is bitter water.
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