Writing on the Rocks

We drove north of the small town in Wyoming.  The internet called it a true off the grid experience where there was “limited” cell service.  Good grief, I thought, it was 30 min. north of town, this place, where the Comanche and Shoshone once lived and wrote on the rock.

It took some talking to convince Steve to go with me, although, finally I just said I was going and if he was interested he could come along. He came with me, even though we didn’t have the perfect weather and we had so much *stuff* to do at the house.

We drove, ten miles north, exit right and take another 18 miles on dirt road, then turn left 3 more miles an even more narrow and bumpier dirt road.  On the way, we were surrounded by sagebrush and 4 wheelers on that Sunday afternoon, it certainly didn’t feel like an “off the grid” experience. Not yet.

Driving the last couple miles, the landscape began to transform. Up ahead you could see cliffs and around us it was green, an oasis, and such a contrast from the brown landscape we’d just driven through.  I felt my body and mind relax.  I took in deep breaths as I imagined what it must have been like in this place so many years ago.

The last leg of our journey was on foot, just a quarter mile to the petroglyphs.  Steve puts his hand on my arm and points ahead. A mountain bluebird sits on a branch ahead of us.  I squeeze his hand as he gently pulls out the binoculars in his pocket and silently thank him for thinking of bringing them along.  We share the binoculars, as we watch the pair of them and wonder if there’s a nest nearby.

Moving on we arrive at the cliffs of sandstone.  I felt sucked back in time as I walked up to the rock and my fingers gently touched the grooves of the rock. We don’t talk but just walk and seem lost in our own thoughts.  I turn my back to the writings and look out to the vast expanse of land around us.  A panoramic view of green, brown and blue.