Red Rock, a wanderer's wilderness nestled on the outskirts of Las Vegas in the resplendent Mojave Desert. I took these shots after a few brisk trail runs, then enjoyed sitting in awed silence, watching the burnt oranges eaves of dusk ebb into the dying day. I can handle Vegas only in parceled portions. The crowds, the refracting noise, the pockets of chaos, the synthetic luxury, the frenetic energy ... it depletes me. I refuel in solitude. When business calls me to Las Vegas, the ascetic in me prefers to stay "far from the maddening crowd" and as close to the Mojave desert as possible, shuttling back and forth to preserve my sanity. Perhaps it is because my formative years were spent in desert country (the outback of the Texas Panhandle) but I love this lonely landscape, much more than even oceans, woods, or mountains. I once tried to pen a short work about this rugged land (that lay both without and within) and the duplicitous beauty -and opportunity- inherent in both. I did not achieve what I wanted and will likely return to that work again someday but for now, I spliced parts of it into the following photos:
... gentle sloping mesas ... face each other ... whispering ancient secrets of fabled names lost to erosion ... the narrative spills on sea grass formed papyrus ...
... a land that breathes bedrock ...
... red earth offers skyward, crescendos of florid hills ...
... the land itself wanders, seeking those who desire isolation in habitation, where wild warriors once sought solace ... wilderness teeming in their hearts ...
... rawness unfettered, holes in which to hide, vast echoes, voids in the shadows to rekindle dreams ...
... others see wasteland, let them pass through ... we behold, beauty in barrenness ...
Soundtracking: El Llano Estacado