North of Flagstaff

We spent a weekend in the north country. North of Flagstaff, north of Mt. Humphrey, north of the heat and squalor that is Phoenix.

The weekend was spectacular. The weather was perfect and the scenery perfect. It was a weekend to remember. The nights had me in awe... The sky was an alien object. The Milky Way was thick and soupy in the black sky like sapce-clouds. Streaks of light blazed across the sky as meteorites and other debris make their final fiery expression of being.

We read books all day. There was no television, no outside interference except the music we chose as moods hit us; Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, Sidney Bechet, Louis Armstrong, Thelonious Monk, Charlie Parker, Alison Krause, James Taylor, Jimmy Buffett, Billy Joel (70's), Lyle Lovett, and Rush (of course).

The first couple of days were windy, and that in itself made wonderful music as the wind hit the curves of trees and the angles of the house producing sound waves unlike any other musical instrument God ever intended.

We hiked everyday with the dogs. They absolutely loved it and it was great to see Henry off the leash and enjoying his freedom. Poor Murphy was showing her age as she limped and panted after particularly long tromps.

There was a new experience... the elevated composting toilet.