Feeling the night light love
We felt sorry for the horse when we heard the clatter of its hooves on the rocky, narrow path as it rounded the bend with a rider holding a jumbo whiskey bottle in one hand and reins in the other.
The man was on a mission to deliver spirits at dawn to the extraordinarily remote and officially dry Havasupai Indian Reservation within the southwest corner of Grand Canyon National Park in Arizona.
Very likely, the heavy-set rider under the worn Stetson hat made the run routinely.
We figured that he picked up the liquid contraband at the top of the Grand Canyon’s undeveloped south rim — probably in the primitive lot where we parked by other wedding guests also arriving for the weekend to celebrate the marriage of a friend from Prescott, Ariz.
Come to think of it, the rider might have been the man who ran the mule train that hauled our camping gear from the parking lot through the canyon to the campground 10 miles away so we could hike there with just our daypacks.
If so, we met him again moonlighting as he pushed his horse hard to the village of Supai above the campground either to share the whiskey or sell it — perhaps by the shot glass.
En route between those two points, the horse’s racket turned deafening in the quiet space as the purplish-blue light of daybreak warmed into brighter colors and rose up the west wall of the canyon. So, we soon stepped well off the path and braced ourselves for the headlong horse and rider.
We were not sure he even would notice us on the shoulder in his haste. Instead, he pulled up hard on the reins, leaned back in the saddle, and pushed his feet forward in the stirrups as if they were brake pedals.
Whoa!
In that moment, we understood this reckless rider as someone surprised — but not worried. He just stopped and took a break from his world, and we took a break from ours.
He knew we were tourists trying to beat the heat by hiking early in the morning back up the canyon to the parking lot from the campground oasis with its waterfalls and topaz lagoon.
We knew that he probably was a middle man working under at least two different hats.
So, like neighbors out walking dogs, we exchanged good morning greetings and then carried on into the day.
This interaction still stands out nearly 20 years later for lots of reasons, but mostly because it freeze frames how good will — which I consider a facet of love — can pop up between strangers going different directions in every respect.
My then newlywed husband and I didn’t know what to expect when the horse and rider rounded the bend in full tilt.
Now, the brief exchange that followed is one more light bulb in my understanding of how the little lights in our interactions with each other — not just the brightest lights from our interactions with close friends and family — can make a difference in our ability to understand life with more love in it.
So, during this month that features Valentine’s Day, I am enjoying a seasonal decoration in a more practical way.
The metal, red-painted word “love” studded with 17 tiny, battery powered light bulbs now serves as a festive night light that glows either on the top of our fridge after we clean up our dinner dishes or on the front porch after nightfall.
I like to move it around inside and outside of our home as a cheery reminder of all the little lights inside love.
However simple, this makeshift night light helps me celebrate who is my neighbor, and ask whose neighbor am I?
Happy Valentine’s Day!