The moon was well up as the sun sank below the mountains
southwest of us. Night descends quickly,
yet gently, upon Nitsitapiisinni, our trailer home. Our world goes from a massive open sky, which
seem to go on forever and be supported by the rugged volcanic mountains around
us, to a stillness permeated by light and shadow, filled with sounds that lead
one into that wonderful dream-state the precedes a blissful sleep.
Many, if not most, people think that the desert is a
lifeless, ugly place. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Daytime in the desert is broad, expansive,
beautiful and full of life. Nighttime in
the desert is a wonderland of sounds and shadows. As the last rays of the sun create a beautiful
tapestry of orange, pink and vibrant blue, the shadows gently cover the land.
Like pulling a warm blanket up around your neck as you drift off to sleep. Silence, only broken by the soulful singing
of the coyote, envelopes us. There is
nothing that says you must be quiet. You
are quiet because the earth is quiet. Calm. Peace. Rest.
Nitsitapiisinni sits within a few yards of a spillway where
the water from Mittry Lake passes over a small flood control dam on its way
south. The presence of water in the
middle of an enormous desert is exciting and almost mind boggling during the
day. At night it is a reassuring lullaby. The sound is refreshing to the soul.
It gets cold in the desert at night, but Pamela leaves the
door open as long as possible to revel in the nighttime sounds. Its 2100 (9pm) and we’re still at 51 degrees
outside, so the door is still open. This verges upon rare in the desert because
the nighttime temperatures can drop quite low. We can hear the lullaby of the water. It is as though it is singing to us. We know it
is our life and our hearts bow in respect and love.
The palm tree across the narrow channel is an iconic
shadow. Near it is the small yellow
light emitting from a neighbor’s trailer window. We have three neighbors. The
only sign of their presence is the small spots of light. The channel is calm and peaceful. The coots, egrets
and loons have gone to roost.
There is almost a full moon. The proper term is Waxing Gibbous. Even with the bright moon light we can see a
vast array of stars. Everything around us appears like a grey-scale picture. There
is a surreal quality.
Inside Nitsitapiisinnni the candle holder I converted into a
12 volt lamp casts a warm glow. We are
comfortable and secure. The Blue Sky solar control panel above the fridge confidently
tells us that our batteries are at 12.8 volts. Lots of power to get us through
the night, thanks to a generous sun.
Suddenly the furnace comes on. I look. The inside temperature is sixty-four
degrees. It is time to close the windows and the door. It is time to go to bed,
to rest in preparation for another magnificent desert day. I walk quietly to the door. There is such a
sense of peace and tranquility, I must walk softly. There is no other way. Standing at the door I look one more time at
the dreamlike world around me. I don’t
want to close the door. I want to embrace the peace and the tranquility. I don’t want to give it up, but I must go and
rest.
Goodnight, moon, that illuminates the world in such a
beautiful and unique way. Good night,
water, that sings its lullaby. Good
night, desert, that despite your apparent harshness offers us solace, comfort and
respite. Good night, Unci Maka
(grandmother earth). May all your children
bless you and live in your warm embrace. Good night, dear friends. May you know the peace that only oneness with the world around you can bring.
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