Canyons always evoke a sense of picturesque excitement of nature,
Slot canyons elevate the thrill several notches by their sheer stature,
They are found in many parts of the world in areas with low rainfall,
Often described as long narrow drainageways, with sheer rock walls

Rock walls are typically eroded into sandstone or other sedimentary rock,
Depth-to-width ratios increasing even ten-fold should come as no shock,
Slot canyons can be subject to flash flooding - a typical characteristic,
Unique soil compositions, differing from the drier uplands, is realistic

Nature's wondrous creation can be seen in the Upper Antelope Canyon,
Water and time have eroded the rock, turning it into a slot canyon,
The transition to formation of smooth flowing rock is incredible,
As if nature willed the breathtaking interior to be truly impeccable

Arizona's Antelope Canyon was formed over time by erosion of red sandstone,
Centuries of flash flooding and intermittent wind resulted in this keystone,
The narrow passageway leads several hundred feet away from the opening,
The gorgeous photogenic sloping of the rocks is a sight worth mentioning

In local lingo, the Navajos call this "the place where water runs through rocks",
Come monsoon, rainwater gushes into the narrow passageways, round the clock,
The passageways are eroded over time making the corridors get more deeper,
Hard rock edges smoothen with characteristic flowing shapes, that look sleeker

A stark feature is the shafts of sunlight radiating down from the canyon top,
The effect is most pronounced during summer, with action almost nonstop,
The light shafts illuminate pink, orange and gold patterns on the canyon walls,
Winter colors are a tad more muted, but still a sight for visitors to enthrall

It's a common sight to see visitors jostling for vantage points for photoshoots,
Tourist guides revel in clicking group photos with free advertising to boot,
Every turn and steps ahead provide an unique exhilarating experience,
Exclamations of awe and wonder that fill the air, befit the ambience

As the 4x4 AWD vehicle drives you back at the end of the slot canyon visit,
Rapturous memorable visuals of the stunning canyon interior are hard to desist,
Witnessing one of nature's marvels leaves an euphoric feeling of being perennial,
Poetic encomium would do little justice to the canyon's beauty, that feels surreal

Peter in the summer morning sun
his cool smile shaded by shadows run
his voice as soothing as coffee’s scent
tell me he wasn’t heaven sent

Peter of Malibu moss and Spanish rose
his lips like light-coral, in kissable repose
his legs slouched akimbo, like a tiger’s limbs
how I long to re-entangle myself in them.

Peter’s quick caress, on windy Tropez beaches
aren’t men the most delightful, of nature's invasive species?
I miss the jeweler’s precision, of his warm and playful hands
and how the sun slowly gifted him, with a model’s golden tan.

Peter sipping coffee under a brittle, New Haven sun,
his rough laugh following something silly I’d done.
There’s no cryptic, localized pathology, happening at the beach,
when the two of us are together, our worlds just seem complete.
.
.
Songs for this:
What the World Needs Now by Tori Holub & James Wilkas
be mine by strongboi

(a holiday vignette)

I’m taking a chunk of my holi-days to work on my thesis (So is Lisa). Without classes we can fully devote our minds to them.
My senior thesis hangs over me, I can’t ignore it.

I banged my funny bone - what even IS a funny bone? My entire arm is tingly and numb.
This song is playing → ’Talk talk featuring troye sivan by Charli xcx & Troye Sivan” I’m feeling so happy—it’s electric—peridot—it’s good.

I’ve got a buffalo. (a buffalo is a cool, high or positive event)
It’s really not that much of a story.
Lisa and I were walking down 5th avenue and there was like, this old man, who was standing out by the curb with a camera—in kind of an adorable way—looking for things to take pictures of—so I smiled as we walked by. Not Lisa though, she’s from Manhattan. Manhattan girls don’t smile on the street.

Then he was like, “Stop, STOP! Stop right there!” I stopped, Lisa walked on a step or two.
“I take street photos, and I want YOU TWO to model in them.”
I was like, “OH, oh NOOO, I don’t know about that.” I looked to Lisa, who looked aghast.
“I use the pictures for street fashion layouts - have you seen New York Magazine’s ‘Street Style?’
“What are you stopping for?” Lisa whispered to me exasperatedly.” She has a horror of modeling.
“He’s kind of adorable, don’t you think?” I asked in a ‘come on,’ pleading voice.
“Most of the time they don’t even use the faces—and I can give you one if you’d like,” he said.
He handed me a New York Magazine business card, he’s on Insta, so he wasn’t some crazy homeless guy.
“Ok, I said,” after a moment, shruggingly. He smiled and backed off several feet, getting ready.
"Anais!" Lisa said, shocked at my ‘out of towner’ naiveite, “I’m not,” she shorthanded, stepping away.

So, for a couple of minutes he took a potpourri of pix, posing me with comments like “turn sideways, pout, pop your waist,” and “look bored.” Now it was cool and windy, I was wearing a hoodie and jeans, and he was never creepy or anything, but I thought, ‘how do you pop your hip in a hoodie?’

As we walked away, Lisa said, “Why’d you agree to do that?”
“Charles is here,” I said defensively, “he had a card and book,” I shrugged. If anything, Charles was amused.
He gave me a couple of pics - cringy and un-model-ly. I think he really wanted Lisa (duh). Anyway, that was my New Year’s Day buffalo. I felt glamorous—for a minute.
Then we went for apple-brandy slushies—which were pretty buffalo too.
.
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Songs for this:
Glamour Girl by Louie Austen
Street Life by Randy Crawford
Talk talk featuring troye sivan by Charli xcx & Troye Sivan

You say good morning,  
Happy New Year,  
Goodbye—  
like a greeting,  
a phrase tossed lightly into the wind,  
as if it will always carry itself back to you.  

But I say them  
like a prayer,  
soft syllables trembling on my lips,  
each word a fragile offering  
each word an incantation of good will

Good morning,  
not just a start,  
but a hope—  
that the sun will rise  
and it's ray's will embrace me in it's warm glow.

Happy New Year,  
not just a celebration,  
but a wish—  
that time will be gentle,  
that its passing won't steal too much.  

And goodbye—  
oh, goodbye,  
not just a parting,  
but a plea—  
that it won’t be the last,  
that you'll be safe
that you'll find your way back to me.

You say it all so casually,  
Like a habit,
like there’s always another moment,  
another chance.  

Maybe the world has been kind to you
But every greeting has left it's mark on me
I pray,
Good morning, Goodbye, Goodnight, Happy Birthday, Happy Holidays,
Each word clawing at me

I say it all like a prayer,  
because I know  
there might not be a next time
I know warmth isn't always where you want to be.

Now that we are on in years,
celebrations change and dwindle
to little remnants of tradition.
We are two stragglers
from life’s journey,
Left behind by the young,
No longer nurturing him,
yet tied to his well-being
even as we wait for his call.
I celebrate Yule not in our home,
but by imaging his joy beside a tree,
his exchange of gifts with her.
And I recall the first Christmas
with my husband, falling asleep together
under a mammoth tree filled with light.
We made ornaments for fun
and poverty didn’t matter.
I wrote a poem for him,
decorated with scenes of our life.
And now, we are too weary
to celebrate like that.
It is as if we pore through a box,
a ragged thing, dragged through time,
looking for souvenirs of joy
and memories of the life we had
when he was here.

Merry Christmas, or at least, that’s what I’m supposed to say. But it doesn’t feel merry anymore, does it? Maybe it’s something that comes with age, or maybe it’s karma finally catching up to me, but I don’t want to be here right now. I plaster on a smile, do my best to get through the day, but inside, I’m lost. I disassociate just to keep the tears at bay. I want to cry, I want to scream, I want to shout to the world that this isn’t fair. I don’t visit my family much anymore, it shouldn’t feel like such a burden. But it does, like being dragged to a never-ending doctor’s appointment as a kid. Every visit feels like a ticking time bomb, emotions spiraling out of control. The air grows heavy, words sharper than knives, cutting deep and leaving wounds that never fully heal. Even in the quieter moments, the tension lingers, never fully gone. I miss being a child, back when life was simple, back when the weight of expectations didn’t feel so crushing. Back when love didn’t feel so conditional, so complicated. I’ve always dreamed of having a family of my own, but now I wonder if I ever could. What if it just turns into this? A cycle of toxicity, repeating endlessly. I want to love and be loved, but this, this isn’t love anymore. Happy holidays, or maybe, not so happy after all.

The cat attacked the tree
everything came
falling down

The cat left
me picking up
the ornaments
and starting
all over again

Realizing that
I get a second chance
to decorate it
to put it together
again
in a different
way

*pauses and reflects
at healing in life

Thank you Santa for the handpan
I did not know
That it was there
Under the tree waiting for me
Thank you Santa for the handpan
It was very shocking to see
And surprising to
I want know what else you have
Instore for me
On this Christmas Day coming up
:)