May Day

I consecrate the first day of May be looking down on the valleys from this high icy buttress, watching the city of Palm Springs far East light up the desert sand like moonlight on water. And 7,200 feet lower in the West the purple cactus flowers are celebrating in the canyon. And here we are, furniture and Sam and I, dangling on a precipice above the world like we were sitting on God's thumb. 

We crossed Apache Peak hours ago, untying the knot of nervousness that was twining in my stomach as I'm sure in the stomachs of other hikers. The rumours in the community and amongst locals were images of treacherousness and an icy plunge to the canyon. Alternate routes were encouraged. The North face is not touched by sun, and snow stays packed in sheets, slick and steep. Of course we strutted to it, and rounding the North bend my steps simply stopped. "Well, it was nice knowing you," Furniture chuckled.

Years ago a forest fire at all the trees on the North and East slope, leaving only black bones in the ground. The soil eroded and washed away without roots to hold it, leaving a near vertical chute in its wake. We were looking at a long glowing cape of ice stretched out across a flank that dropped forever. We started walking downslope, trying to cross below the sheet of ice. Even footsteps in the soil sent sleds of rocks sliding down down forever and out out of sight. I could feel the Earth slipping beneath me, tired and ready to let go of the mountain. We made it across, and continued walking through the steep graveyard of black trunks, watching pebbles ten inches from our shoes slide into oblivion. The sibling of majesty is danger. The sublimity of these peaks is that you are standing on something wonderful on the very edge of life.