Desert Silence

Leif Johnson
3 min readMar 30, 2024

No sight of humans. Only two tracks and jet streams creased the world around me. I wandered off road, my eyes drawn to strange rock formations and over rolling hills. Everywhere I turned was something strange and magnetic. A long razorback ridge like a giant saw with rocky teeth that sought to cut the world in half. Red soil, crumbling and sifting. Cliff faces grated and polished. It’s a world so openly sculpted by the elements, where rocks emerge like broken bones beneath the skin of the desert.

I felt lightyears from home though we were only two hours away. Burning sun rays seared the cold spring air as raven’s soared overhead in twos. Mating season. Their shadows grew and shrunk with ease as they swooped over cliff faces. Cottonwood trees stood bare in stream bottoms; their arms held up in striking poses, dried up leaves giving voice to the wind.

As the sun sank, we made dinner back at camp. Sun rays deflected through clouds that marched out of the west like a water vapor army. The wind sank with the sun leaving a quiet so complete that the grumble of a stomach would cause Kaya to bark, her complaint echoing off the cliffs and cocking her head in return. We laughed at her confusion. Her first echo. Our family of three, a tiny dot in a vast world. I couldn’t have asked for more.

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Leif Johnson
Leif Johnson

Written by Leif Johnson

Wildlife biologist turned writer. This is my library of ramblings on everything from conservation to noisy neighbors.

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