Somewhere over northern Arizona or southern Utah — or perhaps northwestern New Mexico or southwestern Colorado — during a flight from Atlanta to Las Vegas on an early autumn morning some years ago, I looked out the window while cradling a beverage and simply admired the evolution of the topography of the land approximately 35,000 feet below me.
Sunday Morning Photograph September 5 2021: The American West. From the Air.
The colors of the beautiful buttes — specifically, those earthy tan and beige tones streaked with a murky crimson under a grayish green layer — simply captured my attention as my mind wandered of the wonders of the artistic palette of nature.
How many years the flowing waters of what became a dry wash carefully carved a crevice miles through the bumpy plains of the eastern stretches of desert; and yet — no matter how diligent the attempt — the landscape seemingly shows little to no signs of life.
Shadows of cumulous clouds quietly dotted the craggy cliffs, creating a random pattern which will never be duplicated in the exact same way ever again…
…no matter how hard the magnificently mighty terrain might try to maintain the meanderingly meaningless pattern of the pointless pointillism painted by the pillowy puffs of potential precipitation.
The dry desert wins out again, however — perhaps until the monsoon season arrives to drench the creases in the canyons in the evolving creation of the design of hundreds of square miles of the unforgiving American West.
I take the last sip of my beverage.
Final Boarding Call
I have always had an affinity of admiration of flying over the American West and getting lost in my thoughts. Sparked by listening to it during one of those moments, the 1989 song Almost Hear You Sigh by The Rolling Stones reminds me of flying over this beautiful part of the United States during the daylight hours and must be played on my portable electronic device every single time this happens…
…and I suppose that with the recent death of Charlie Watts — who has drummed on every single song by The Rolling Stones — at 80 years of age, this is my perfect way of paying tribute to an unassuming man whose persistence and talent led to some of the most memorable songs in the history of modern music.
In the meantime, I look forward to the day when I once again fly as a passenger in an airplane over this incredible expanse of the United States, lost in my thoughts while cradling yet another beverage and listening to that song — as well as other songs — from my airplane play list…
Please click here for a complete list of the Sunday Morning Photograph series of articles at The Gate.
All photographs ©2014 by Brian Cohen.
