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II. Season of Changing Colors

Listening

From the valley floor, Rock Canyon appears rugged. The jagged peaks at the canyon’s mouth look like teeth, framing the dramatic V and dropping straight into the valley rather than easing their way lower in elevation through foothills. Beyond this imposing opening, however, are the soft slopes of a basin shaped like a crescent moon, tips close to kissing at the mouth of the canyon. On the backside of the teeth are steep but smooth hillsides, carpeted with pines.

It’s a glacial basin plush with life, and today it’s on fire. Maples, ranging from beige-rouge to brilliant oranges to deep vermillion reds and pinks, grow thick here. While the higher reaches of the Cottonwood Canyons become patchworks of evergreens and golden aspen during the fall, Rock Canyon becomes a rash of ochre and cinnamon from scrub oak and maples.

I stood on the edge of this basin with my grandparents. It was the most delicious of autumn days: warm but with a cooler edge to the air, especially noticeable after an exhaustingly hot and long summer. I had never been here before, though this place is as thick with my family history as it is with maples.