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Creek Running North

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August 29, 2004

Mouth of Pinole Creek, low tide

Sleep eludes me. I read a few pages of Bill Broyles's manuscript: stories of thirty years of night hikes in the Sonoran Desert. Feel the lava beneath my feet, hear the waves in the Gulf of Colorado, and then come to realize I have been sleeping, my face three inches from the page. I douse the light and dream half an hour's fitful dreams of coyotes, of endless night hikes. Bill once walked and ran 85 miles across the desert in a night, sometimes waking with a start, not knowing how he got where he was. I know nights like that, I think to myself.

Moonlight floods the room.

I have been reading tide tables, anticipating the new boat's arrival. A string of afternoon high tides is on the agenda for October. I plan each trip in my mind, paddling upwind to Wilson Point or Point Pinole, then riding tide and wind back home.

Bill writes of the Tohono O'odham men walking across the desert to collect sea salt, always sleeping with heads pointed seaward so that it would draw them closer.

A fragment of moonlight falls, flutters past my window on soft owl wings. Again I awake. Outside and to the west, Ocean gazes longingly at the moon, follows it around the world.

The moon draws the sea to it. I sleep with my head bathed in moonlight.

Posted by Chris Clarke at August 29, 2004 07:56 PM TrackBack URL for this entry:

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decorative line of bighorn petroglyphs


i love this...may i have it?

Posted by: Anne at August 30, 2004 10:05 AM
decorative line of bighorn petroglyphs