It was a long and winding road that lead to – who knows where? She had never been there before. But she had just passed through the Kaibab – 41 miles of rolling, forested hills – mountains kneeling, mountains lying down and covered with ponderosa, aspen and mountain meadows. She saw the sign that directed to Point Imperial and Cape Royale. She didn’t need a picture to paint 1,000 words. Those four words were irresistible and she turned left. According to the pocket map provided her by the Park Service Ranger, one has to get a permit to have a wedding at Cape Royale. A wedding? Then it must be beautiful.
Beauty restores. Beauty heals. Beauty comes in many different forms. She needed restoration, healing, beauty, self-care. That morning, she stopped to see friends and acquaintances; a kind word here, an act of service there. But she was empty and it soon became apparent she needed to refill her own tank if she was to serve others. So she sniffed out some nutritional fuel.
The meal was excellent. She tucked a portion away – to go – and planned to polish it off in a beautiful place as dinner. Thirty-seven miles later she stopped at Jacob Lake and then proceeded through Kaibab National Forest and the Grand Canyon North Rim entrance gate. It was then she saw the sign: Cape Royale Road. The road forks after five miles. To the left another three miles is Point Imperial. She tried that first as an appetizer. 8, 800 feet – the highest overlook on the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. Her optimum altitude. Ponderosa pines. Beauty in every direction. Painted Desert to the east. Far below, views of Marble Canyon, and the eastern portion of the Grand Canyon. Returning to the fork, she headed up the right hand branch. Fifteen miles – a long and winding road – not suitable for trailers or long vehicles – plenty of time for a bride to consider her destination. She drove as far as a car can go and parked. On her own two feet she entered the avenue, a paved trail lined with piñon pine and tall, thriving, cliff rose. Until that day, she had never wanted to be a June Bride. June seems so conforming and usual somehow. But oh, if one is going to be a bride at Cape Royale, June is the month to be that bride. Every cliff rose was in bloom. As she walked, she noticed a wall of rock jutting into the canyon on the left. In that wall, nature had chiseled a window, Angel’s Window.
And through that window, in the distance, she could see the Colorado River. Her River. It was a breath-taking discovery.
It was not a difficult hike, nor a difficult drive, but it was a long, long and winding road; and it led to beauty. Her soul was satisfied for another hour, another day, another week. She would survive.
