Writing about my love of sewing and remembering how I used to spend time at my sewing machine the way I now spend it at my writing machine has reignited a craving for the feel of fabric between my fingers, slicing, stitching and shaping it into something beautiful, wearable, or useful. I’d forgotten how sewing typically sets off a flood of creative juices, washing away mental log jams and rearranging debris into stunning new configurations. Earlier this morning I began writing about a trip we took two years ago to Mexico’s Copper Canyon. I was remembering the time we spent in at El Mirador, a hotel hanging over the edge of the canyon near Divisdero. The sound of drumming reverberated around the canyon. Our guide explained that this only occurs the week before Easter in preparation for the huge fiesta held by the Tarahumara Indians.

The morning after we arrived, I headed out on a point, alone with my camera, just before sunrise. I found a spot on a spacious rock right on the edge of the cliff and sat to watch the sun turn the mist of dawn to pure gold and wake the colors of far canyon walls with a good  morning kiss.  The combination of wide open spaces, flaming glory, mystical drumming, and fragrance of the forest invoked a state of pure bliss.

Later, as I worked on a sewing project, I was reminded of a similar feeling while attending Girl Scout Day Camp in Los Alamos Canyon. On a much smaller scale, we were on the edge of a cliff, half way down into a canyon. Our troop site was situated on a ledge against a sheer cliff face above. We arrived in the early morning and were surrounded by old growth ponderosa pine. I never heard Indian drums up on the Hill, but San Ildefonso Pueblo was only 15 miles away, and Indian influence was strong in the area.

These two dots connect with my general love of the Southwest and its native culture, inherent simplicity, exposure and vast scale. It speaks to some profound Truth deep within my soul. I feel that something, but I can’t yet name it. This experience of writing about it is allowing me to name it and more strongly claim it, giving it more power in my life. This is the magic of memoir and has become my primary purpose in writing.

I uploaded a collection of pictures from our whole trip onto the Flickr website. The slide show starts here. If you want to specifically see pictures of that mystical morning, that set of eight begins here.