Arches (Poem)

Arches

That morning:

The smell of the clean desert after a night of thunderstorms

Slow, long light, beckoning flowers to open and a hint of moisture wafting from the red sand stone. Magic.

That evening:

Propane grill smoke from a frozen rib eye and beer breath occupy your nostrils.

Both smells are a gift.

This poem was inspired by this is incredible photo from the Arches National Park Twitter account, and my countless days grilling and storm chasing in the desert.