September 13, 2010

Rocks and Homes that look like Rocks

I was on a morning hike on Saturday when I remembered it was 9/11. For a moment I felt pressure to have a "moment." You know? Like maybe I should relive all I remember about that day and then buy a flag and wave it around town. Not that those things wouldn't have also been appropriate, but instead I hiked to the top of a hill and sat on a rock and said a morning prayer...and felt a lot of gratitude for a God whose hand is stretched out still. His existence is the only thing that not necessarily helps me to make sense of this world, but helps me to feel very loved and cared for in all of the madness (by the way, thanks for a lovely Sunday post Liz).



(my prayer rock)

Later on Saturday I drove to one of my favorite places--a community of adobe houses called Kayenta. It's magical. Living in Manhattan I began to feel like everything was just an extension of the city--including myself. Like two million people all lived together on this tiny island and there was nothing to really distinguish my space from the next person. We packed ourselves onto sidewalks, subways, and even parks and it was loud and there was an odd lack of privacy. But somehow the chaos felt fluid, albeit impersonal, because we were all moved about by this bigger thing called "city."

I realized there is a similar fluidity in Kayenta. Except everything you see feels like an extension of nature. The adobe homes are nestled so beautifully in the landscape that it's like you can't distinguish where one home ends and nature begins. And rather than being imposing and impersonal, it feels very intimate and quiet and natural.

See what I mean? Is that you, little adobe house or a red rock cliff? I. Love. It.

Dear Kayenta homeowners: If you ever need a housesitter...I'm jobless and responsible.

I hope you all had a great weekend!

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