SOUTHWESTERN SKIES

HERE are many interesting places to visit, and unique and unusual things to see in Arizona and the great Southwest but it requires time, effort, and, incidentally, a little money in greater or lesser degree, to tour and frequently one, or all three, of these necessities for travel are not always available at the propitious moment, principally the latter. But to everyone, the sick and well, the young and old, the rich and poor, at all hours of the day and night, without cost, or even so much as the lifting of the little finger though you must lift your eyes is available the supreme joy and delight of the Southwest-our SKY. The splendor of the Master's hand as exemplified in the sky is one of our finest assets. Its infinite moods are as varied as the weather and its gorgeous colorings rival the well-known Biblical coat of Joseph's. In the morning (if you get up in time) you can view with delight-and never with alarm as most seamen if they believe in the old adage "sky red in morning, sailors take warning" the eastern sky ablaze in its full matutinal glory and viewing it you no longer wonder why the Indian deified the dawn or sang his Sunrise Call. The brilliant, colorful heralding of the new day never ceases to fill me with mingled inspiration and reverence. At noon the turquoise blue of the firmament (isn't it a much deeper, clearer blue than you have ever seen elsewhere?) is most always enhanced by masses of fluffy, downy, marshmallow clouds in sufficient amount and variety to relieve any possible color monotony. And those of you who are so deeply engrossed in worldly matters and have never whiled away an odd moment formulating designs and figures among the clouds have missed something. Great ships, giants, animals, colonial ladies and their gentlemen in tall wigs pass and change their forms with every move of the clouds.

There is no end to the fun you can have if you let your imagination run rampant in this "figuring out" of the clouds. It is really a delightful, amusing and stimulating recreation. And there are the clouds hanging low over the mountains, a sight that is always intriguing, and the clouds of dark, sullen beauty that give us promise of blessed rain. I think they're as lovely then as in their milkywhite fleeciness. And then as twilight descends we are once again lifted up from things terrestrial to view the Master's firmament masterpiece the sunset. Artists endeavor in vain to catch its glory on canvas without any material degree of success. Its breathless beauty is such an evasive, momentary thing and there's only the brief period of sunset to try and copy it for every sunset is different and decidedly individual. One evening the colors will be all pale pink and lavender, the next evening flaming golds and reds will predominate and then perhaps soft, luscious yellows, blues and gray will be the motif of the following one.

And then to top the beauty of the day comes the cool, sublime, romantic magnificence of the night sky. One can scarcely believe that this is the same moon and stars we have gazed on elsewhere for the moon is so much brighter and luminous and the stars far more brilliant and numerous than the ones seen in other parts of the country. This is no merehallucination as we all know that the atmosphere, high and clear as it is in most sections, gives us a much clearer and better view than is experienced in the lower, high humidity altitudes. Our ethereal moonlight nights should inspire some embryo Beethoven to give the world another Moonlight Sonata.

The writer will never forget an experience she had on a moonlight night some years ago. Our home had extremely steep, cement steps to the basement, on the outside of the house, with no banister or support on either side. Earlier in the evening I brought up some ashes in a coal scuttle, planning to empty and return with it to the cellar immediately. Just as I reached the top step the telephone rang. I set the bucket down and hurried into the house to answer the phone and then completely forgot the ashes. Just before retiring I decided to take a final look at the furnace. I stepped out of the house and turned to go down the steps and then stopped suddenly to gaze admiringly at the moon which was particularly resplendent that night. Those few seconds accustomed my eyes to the darkness slightly and also broke my hurried pace for as I slowly turned to descend the steps I clearly saw the scuttle which I had NOT seen a moment before. I shudder when I think of what might have happened if I had not stopped to look at the moon for my husband was away for several days and I was alone at the time. I always give the Man in the Moon credit for saving my life that night, or at least saving me from real, serious injury.

But to most of us the supreme celestial spectacle of the southwestern sky is the rainbow. It is not always seen in its complete splendor but no matter how minute the manifestation it is always superb. Before coming to this part of the United States I frequently wondered how anyone could count SEVEN colorsin the rainbow when three or four was the most you could see but our rainbow certainly has MORE than just seven, hasn't it? When we are fortunate to have the "entire" rainbow it looks like a huge, irridescent scarf waiting for some heavenly spirit to use it for an angelic, terpsichorean interlude. And frequently we have an extra treat in seeing the rainbow's reflection or what you might call a second rainbow. We also have a rarer sight, in the mountain regions, in the misty, haunting, night rainbows. And as yet we haven't considered our everyday, all-day shining sun. We take it for granted and do not always realize what a cheerful effect it has on our daily lives until we return to regions where the sunshiny day is "unusual." It's terribly gloomy and certainly conducive to melancholy to face dark, dismal skies, and no sunshine whatsoever, day after day, and week after week. Many folks tell us that when they travel to other parts of the country they miss our southwestern sunshine more than anything else and are anxious to get back for the sunshine, if nothing else.

So, our Chambers of Commerce might go the man one better who tries to sell the Brooklyn Bridge to strangers, and sell our SKY to visitors and prospective permanent residents. It alone is worth the price of admission and there are no views reserved.