Abandoned roads - Jos Lammers

temple to praise the beauty of nature. With a lot of oh’s
and ah’s we try to grasp the view, while beneath us in the
canyon a big blackbird of prey takes flight. ‘Californian
condor’, someone points out. He now floats right above
us. The bottom of his wings (‘nine feet wide’, the same
helpful neighbor says) has a white drawing with dentate
edges, like an Indian blanket. The wings themselves are
Indian style too, supple, black fringes at the edges. He is
floating. In large, easy circles he glides almost without
any movement above the canyon. The light of the sun alternately
on his black back and the white Indian drawing
at the bottom of his wings. Small, almost casual movements
with the fringes of his wings are enough to just tilt
and fly towards us or away from us with a graceful curve.
Back and forth, back and forth. It lets itself be rocked on
a hand of wind and warm air rising up from the canyon
floor. With a little help from his friends, he draws flowing
lines in the air, from black to white to black to white.
I’m standing there, at the edge of the canyon and watch
until the heat lifts me too and softly carries me above the
world. Weightless. Until the condor slowly floats away.
In the visitors center a bit further up the road I’m
looking for something about the Californian condor.
Something to take with me, but all I can find is a tin plated
badge for fifteen dollars. Even so I hesitate. Then I
settle for the picture in my head.
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