"The Big Spiral near Sibyl, Arizona" (c) 2011 Stu Jenks
I went back yesterday, reshoot and redrew this spiral. The largest spiral I've ever drawn, over 25 feet wide. It was actually very hard work, carving into the wash. I was out of breath more than once, pushing that big Mesquite stick into the ground.
Some of the lines are a bit lumpy but no matter. Life is lumpy and imperfect at times. Scars and lumps show we have lived.
The sand was wonderful as was the locale. That's Cochise Stronghold and The Dragoon Mountains in the distance.
Fun Fact: It's quite difficult to find a wash in Southern Arizona that hasn't been disturbed by ATVs and other traffic. This unnamed wash near the railroad crossing of Sibyl was smooth, level, soft and serene. Like going back in time, when Apaches rode these hills.
And my thoughts yesterday were that life's spiral is very long for many of us, through our birth, childhood, adulthood, middle age, old age and death. A very long path we each take, yet some people's spirals are not as wide or as long or as full of lumps and scars: Infants who die in their first few days, a tiny little spiral; teenagers killed in car crashes or in wars, a pretty small spiral; adults killed in tornados or who just dropped dead, a good size spiral but not huge. And my sister who'll probably be dead from cancer before Christmas at the age of 63. She has a good size spiral now but it could be bigger, and it definitely could have a great deal more lumps and scars in it.
No one, except perhaps my sister, will say she lived a full life. No one.
I feel angry and sad sometimes, that my mother and father did such a number on my sister, that she's spent most of her life alone, living in our old house on Amherst rent-free, with no job, very little money, few friends, a dog or two over the years, watching TV, doing cross-stitch, getting drunk, going to church on Sundays and hardly talking to any one.
So the spiral I drew yesterday became big, wide, lumpy, and alone, hidden in a anonymous wash in the Sonoran Desert.
A spiral for my sister. A spiral for me. A spiral for all of us, I suppose.
And don't worry. Pamela will never read this post. I offered to buy her a small laptop last year but she refused, and I don't know the last time she went to a library to view a computer.
So say a prayer for her, as she sits alone, in a big old house, in pain, on meds, waiting for death to come.
She does believe in God and The Life Everlasting. At least she's not completely alone.
