September 15, 2006. 9:40pm.

Tucked into my sleeping bag, on top of my Jeep, in Grand Canyon National Park. The stars seem thicker than the sky they are sitting in -- more than I have ever, ever seen in my life. I climbed onto my canvas top, laid down, looked up, and watched a meteor fall.

It is a cool night, but not cold; as long as it does not rain, I wouldn't want to be in a tent tonight. Fuck, I can't believe this.

There was no ranger manning the entrance booth when I drove in, so I have not paid the vehicle or individual entrance fees. The campground is technically full, so I am probably not supposed to be here. I am setting my alarm for 5am and I hope to get to the rim for sunrise (and also get out of the campground before anyone asks me what the hell I'm doing on top of my car). We'll see how things work out. For now, I have had too much caffeine, I'm going to sleep with my contacts in, and I can't stop cursing at the wonder of it all. Anything but four-letter words doesn't do the beauty verbal justice in this moment.

The wind is blowing like I've never quite heard it... maybe it's coming up from the Canyon... it is a high wind -- high in the trees, I mean -- ruffling my sleeping bag now and then, but not attacking me at ground level like WIND usually does. It is not howling or fast... it sounds like the ocean, like a wave that rides and rides but never crashes, just one noisy peak that travels forever between me and the stars.