Grand Canyon, south side

(2/16/25) We stayed an extra day in Flagstaff (at the encouragement of our gracious hosts) and drove to the Grand Canyon. 170+ miles there and back. Since it was Sunday, the post office was closed. The Cameron Trading Post dining room, however, was sweltering hot and fully packed, and they pulled off lunch quite convincingly. Peering into the 'Little Colorado' canyon as we drove along the 64 and part of the Diné Reservation, its 'littleness' became apparent later. Scale upon scales of depth and distance. A strata of snow around the upper perimeters. It felt cheap to pull out our camera. Americanah paparazzi everywhere posing and poofing their lips, speaking in many tongues to absent audiences. Ravens far below followed a vein along the walls, rising rapidly, churning their wings up and over our heads. Two tourist guys fixate on a sitting raven (perhaps angling for a photo-op?); the raven squats and shits. Raven, the Trickster (AKA Coyote, Thoth, Mercury, Hermes) strikes again.

Sipapu (a Hopi word) is the hole, the womb, the opening through which several local indigenous peoples still tell of climbing into this world at the beginning of this era. A place where time and space converge -- apparently that storied place lies near here. Gazing into the vast crinkled textures of light and shadow lengthening into early evening, we're struck by the living-ness of this place. "Indescribable," our host Catherine described the GC; maybe not saying it at all still says it best.