29 July 2020
Dearest Fazal,
Good morning. A black-chinned hummingbird continues his sweet sipping of the fuchsia blossoms on the coyote willow. Mid-morning heat creates a pale light that I have come to love in July in contrast to the vibrant fire-flaming sunsets on the red rocks and mesas at dusk. I used to dread summers in the desert, now I savor them.
The forecast for the next seven days is scorching heat, days well over 100 degrees. The cheat grass is burnt. The red sand is cracked. And we just crossed the threshold of 150,000 citizens dead in America from Covid-19. The virus is surging in Florida, Georgia, Texas, Arizona, Idaho, Montana, and Utah. Deaths in Indian Country continue to escalate. A senior health care center in Blanding is being investigated for negligence with over fifty people testing positive, patients and staff alike, and three deaths in the last day or so, one of whom was Mr. Redhorse, a well-known medicine man among the Navajo, a relative of Ida Yellowman.
Last night, after a volatile cloud burst with thunder and lightning, a golden light fell upon the valley that was biblical, with a Black Rainbow arching over the valley. I didn’t know there was such a thing. But there is—known as “Alexander’s Band”—first noted by Alexander of Aphrodisias around 200 CE. It appears where water droplets reflect light away from the viewer. It was ominous and exquisite, at once.
When I lifted this photograph of Justine’s hands folded on her lap with dazzling drops of sequins reflecting light, the picture was upside down. Without my glasses, Fazal, I saw the Black Rainbow.
By your side,
Terry