Many years ago , photographer Les Blacklock put together a collection of his photos in a book and called it "Ask My Psychiatrist." His psychiatrist? A log in a forest in northern Minnesota. I recalled his log/psychiatrist (tongue in cheek for Blacklock). as I hung in my hammock next to the Colorado River in Utah looking through young spring oak leaves at blue sky and red rock cliffs. My bruised psyche needed healing. Shortly before I left with a friend to drive to Moab, I was the object of a rant, a razor-sharp rant that left me raw, sleepless, disoriented. My friend and I camped for seven nights under oak trees. We spent long hours with coffee, wine, and conversation, as we absorbed the tranquility of our little camp , far removed from the rant that took me down. It was my time in the hammock where I felt the healing grab me. Peace from the river and the rocks took root and push out the shock, the sad, and the anger. I know people, myself included, natter on about the solace of wild places, but this time something almost magical happened. That twisted rant dissolved and in its place, gratitude for a good life that includes traveling and camping in beautiful places with good friends.
I am blessed. I can let go of the rest.

Sometimes help comes from an unexpected place.

A perfect week camping alongside the Colorado River close to Moab. Edward Abbey got it right in Desert Solitare, "...you can't see anything from a car; you've got to get out of the damn contraption and walk, better yet crawl..."

still testing