the Valley of Fire

Most things are cyclical if one is patient enough to wait. A moon goes from crescent to full on its continuous orbit around the earth. Caterpillars cycle through the cocoon to morph into butterflies. I cycle back to the deserts as the wind chimes of the ancient earth dwellers call my name.
The desert chill from the cold night is receding as the morning sun starts to bake the red rocks in the Valley of Fire. I find my first boulder to climb after scanning the area for creepy crawlers that may be hiding in the alcoves. I stretch my muscles on 150 million year old stones.
After bouldering for a spell, I find a hike to a canyon overlook deep in the heart of the Valley. The sandy trail winds like the rattlesnakes that call this place home. Sweats drips from my beanie as I navigate deeper into the red rock woman.
She opens up to me in fantastic fashion. Perched on an outcrop, I rest in the scenery, dance in ecstasy along the edge of the overlook.
Deceptive is this desert, and I become lost. Panicked, I call out to the Basket Maker people of old for guidance. A calm breeze rushes up the canyon to cool my head, my thoughts, my internal guidance system. The Ancient Ones lead me out unscathed and I fall to my knees thankful.
Modern man has built a stairwell for me to climb and see 3,000 year old petrogylphs left by Early man. How did this art get left so high, and what does it mean?
I leave with more questions than answers, which is why I will again cycle back to the Deserts.
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Wench, bring my ale, what say you?