The Altar The road to the Sun Stone runs over hills that shine with rain and past forest so dense time cannot pass through it. A bus leaves every day with its motor complaining and music playing on the radio, all sweeping romance and glitter turned to sound. It grinds its way back from now to an age preserved in lava where an orchid grows in each chest cavity emptied of its heart. The ride continues along steamy heights and muddy valleys, more dream than journey as jaguars reclaim their history. When the wheels fall away all that remains is to walk and walk beyond familiarity. Long avenues open and beside them the foundations of a culture press through the moss, yearning to return. And it does. With paths winding deep into anyone’s mind who has made it this far and with a secret buried inside every mound. It’s beautiful here, but a sting is hidden under every leaf. An alligator sleeps a sleep carved into rock, while steps lead into the clouds where the sun waits on an altar for the flint knife to release its light.
David Chorlton is a longtime resident of Phoenix, who has grown into the desert climate and likes it. Visits to Costa Rica and the rainforest made a significant and vastly contrasting impression on him compared to his usual dry surroundings.