There she sat, cross legged, clothed only in her birthday suit. Gleaming radiant from cascading embers glow of our slowly dying campfire. She has been in that position fifteen minuets, deep in thought of our full day's activity.
As I lay curled up in my comfortable fetal position, warm, secure in a goose down sleeping bag, I wonder if she remembers the way it all began, so little time ago, yet it often seems as if it were forever. How can a short period of time appear in
my memory as if it were always so. As if I knew her way back then, as I have known her only a short period of time now. I can only explain, that knowing her is magic.
Her eyes gleem as campfire lights play accross her face, bright now, dark now, shadowy, unreal, ghostly. Minot is painting her with dark of night, glimmers of red, soften by sweet yellows, a glint of orange, all hues of pastels glisten, covering her body.
"GOD WOMAN, YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL", I want to scream at her, but to startle her, causing a change in this wounderful picture would be disaster, I shall contain myself.
We had spent the day in one of God's pleasure palaces. Great outdoors, nature abounding, a place untouched by marauding mankind. Walking amoung tall trees, branches reaching skyward to welcome mother sun, up small hills covered by wild flowers,
not picking even one yet pulling each one into our memories of enjoyment.
Stopping in a glen, soft delicate grass, spreading a gingham tablecloth, decorated with rose/white stripes. Spending hours eating, talking, hugging, kissing, tickling, being a child,
being an adult, as darkness began to close in, being very much adult.
Arms of Morpheus became our friend as we lay there, two, entwined, bodies still moist from our voyage into physical knowledge of each other. With a slow desire to move I arose to gather fire wood while she rather slowly also moved to put things away, back into the priviously ordered fashion the dishes etc. were.
So here we are, as we were when I began this tale. Her deep in thought, beautiful as ever, I enjoying the view, Lady you are truly magic.
Bright sunny day this AM, soft billowy cirrus clouds seven miles high in tufts and feathery bands reach out, some lowering themselves to wrap the top of my beautiful Superstion Mountains in a warm bear like hug. How many times I have spent days, weeks there in the bowels of her, that magnificent mountain range of mine.
In the seventies we, my lady of the time, Georgie, and I would park the truck at First Water, about 3 miles off route 88. Walking through the Massacre Grounds area at the foot of Old Sup, then up the slight grade leading first to Little Knife. On up 100 yards to Big Knife, maeby 50 more feet to the foot of Priest Rock. The ascent up the front is steep, able to make it, but around the back of Priest Rock is easier access. The second choice was ours to make, we did.
Walking in front of Big Knife, we made our way eastward around it's base. On the backside we began the upgrade in a natural passageway between Big Knife and Priest Rock. It is about 75 feet slightly raising upward with each step as we arrived at the top of a level area between the two. There before us stood the oft time talked about Heart of Stone. Standing 15 feet high, 10 feet wide, 4 feet deep was a sample of Mother Nature's creation, a naturally formed heart shaped mammoth appearing stone.
We tarried there about 5 hours, setting, relaxing, eating, spending time looking off into the desert surrounding us. The "Lost Dutchman" was said to have uttered, "From my gold mine I can see the trail of soldiers, but they cannot see me". We stood in just such a spot, we could see the trail where a hundred years before there would be large groups of soldiers going to, fro, where Apaches would ride, where early pioneers no doubt rode, died. What a glorious view.
Evening time was fast approaching as Georgie began to put out the cooking utensils as I wondered off in search of dry wood, fallen tree branches, dead saguaro whose aroma would enhance the evening air. While making a fire as the Evening Star began it's nightly show I knelt down near Georgie, nudging her backside with my knee, she giggled like a school girl feeling a males closeness for the first time. This being 2 April 1979, we had been "significant others" for 5 years, Georgie and I, yet daily finding ways to tease, entice, please each other.
A small meal was always enjoyed by both of us, not being ones to gorge ourselves on anything, ok, maby on love making, that we both dearly loved. Call it sex, love, over zealous animals, what ever, we did enjoy pleasing each other in a reasonable variety of ways. No anal exploration type of activity, but an active imagination combined with a desire to please your loved one offers a variety of pleasures, these we searched for. So the balance of time was thus spent. Between howls of distant coyotes, calls of lonely birds blending with sounds of, well, you know, 2 humans, these melodies aided us in drifting off into realms of peace and tranquillity.
Morning light was gentle as we were on the westside of Priest Rock. Softness of morning shadows greeted our slowly opening eyes, she still in the crook of my shoulder/arm pit, head resting near my neck, hair being blown slightly on/off my right ear like wings of a humming bird. A sleeping bag for two is fantastic since it presents no way of sleeping except close, very close to your partner. Our naked bodies were moving as one, as a single butterfly arising from its cocoon.
Now, refreshed from our sojourn of 24 hours with Mother Nature we return to whatever the world wishes to send our way.
This page and connecting pages: Copyright © 1996-2005 by Jack Leroy Bryson. All rights reserved. This site may be freely linked to but not duplicated in any fashion without my consent.
