SENSE OF DRY HUMOR
By Maya Silver
The sandy floor of an ancient ocean compresses into slickrock. Wind and rock sculpt an arch; glaciers carve canyons.
A camel roaming the banks of a vast paleolake yields to a Lab on leash sniffing salty shores.
A Fremont man scrambling up sandstone to hide grain during the last megadrought becomes a woman climbing a crack for fun.
The Weber River drowns a town; the trout become disoriented. The reservoir dries up, revealing a soggy ghost town. There is snow, so we ski; we ski, so we make snow.
Whiskey is for drinking, water is for __________
(verb ending in -ing).
The ghosts of groves, seas, rivers, animals. Reckoning, anticipating: Memento mori on a state level, or AstroTurf as far as the eye can see.
Maya Silver writes about the outdoors, environment and food, and is the author of the “Moon Guide to Salt Lake City, Park City and the Wasatch Range.” She lives in Kamas with her husband, two kids, dog, goats and chickens. Dig in at mayasilverwrites.com