The low December sunbeams glance off the earth like a stone skipping across a lake, and the ancient towers cast their shadows across the red land. Yes, Indian Creek — the perfect place to pass the waning days of this unseasonably warm autumn. After six months of constant life curveballs, it was fantastic to be dusty in the desert, zoning out and climbing splitter sandstone in my favorite place on earth.
I love the wind howling through the trees, the breeze kissing my skin and whipping my hair. The river was empty, though, the creek bone dry. The water was gone. If the river returns in the spring, the cottonwoods will blossom, and the desert will bloom with color and life. Will it happen? Will I be back to see it? Will the bluebirds and butterflies return with the water?
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