Sunday in Salt Lake. Not so sibilant as it sounds—not silky, sexy, smooth, seductive. Just a big blank to be gotten through.But the mountains continue to encircle the city, and I find comfort therein. Not because of the traditional Judaeo-Christian notion that they remind us of God’s encircling arms. But because they’re a spiritual alternative to the city—something older, more pristine, wilder. They remind me of a spiritual presence that will far outlast the flimsy grid of this holy city of which the Mormons are so proud.
And the moon, night after night, a thin crescent in the deep ink-black sky over the city . . . . It sings all night calling us to prayer and transforming dreams. And here’s how it appeared last night to the native people living in the Grand Canyon, the Havasupai (journal includes here a clipping of a photograph from Sunday’s Salt Lake Tribune).
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