I am home.
I've been on top of this mesa for no more than a few hours and I feel like I've been here for months. It's the familiar feeling of discontentment that clues me in on this fact. I feel stagnant up here-- lonely and misunderstood. I don't understand the landscape the way I did when I was hiking. Then, I was picking through a maze of topography, where each living thing served a purpose. The teddy bear cholla stood guard at saddles connecting massive buttes, the prickly pear carpeted broad mesas, and the saguaros danced along the slopes of canyons. My job was to walk, and I did so proudly and with determination.
Now, after being chased away from my camp by a pair of rogue bees, I am lying on my back, atop Black Top Mesa, in the shade of a Palo Verde tree.
My eyes move lazily from open to closed, occasionally stealing a glance at the clouds. But I'm not relaxed. At least, not in the traditional sense. My mind is running 100 miles an hour-- punishment for me doing nothing. How dare I waste away my backpacking trip? I came here to photograph Weaver's Needle, and here I am, three hours before the sweet sunset light, lying horizontal and looking at the clouds. Sure, I found a potential composition, but it's the type of shot that would require an exceptional sunset sky to work. So, essentially I have found nothing.
I lay and look at the clouds for a bit longer. They are high and wispy, only allowing pockets of blue to peak through. It's the sort of sky that will provide a brilliant pink sunset, but it's only 3PM and experience reminds me the clouds will probably clear up.
I figure the bees have gotten bored and moved on, so I get up and head back to my camp, which is comprised of nothing more than a tarp, sleeping pad and sleeping bag. It is minimal, but it's overlooking an amazing view, several miles deep in the Superstition Wilderness. I'm still not content, but moving makes me feel a little better.
I've got a couple hours to grab my camera and explore the mesa. This evening I may get a shot and I may not. The only thing I know is I'll return to the desert next week.
