Think emerald. The mountains of Copper Canyon are a shimmering vision of a thousand emeralds. When I stood on the open deck of an old train as it coasted along the cliffs of Creel, I could close my eyes and inhale the moist foliage. The waterfalls’ mist rose from the river below, carrying to my lips the scents and flavors of wild flower blossoms which married my warm sweat- salt and honey.
The blue sky rules the mountains with its bright hot queen, the sun, who heats our bodies and sets, dimming in a dome of blood red and ocean blue. In the twilight, the fireflies glisten and bounce, and the sounds of the train groaning and thundering are all you have to remind you that you aren’t flying. The mist chills your skin, curls your hair, and quenches your lips. The dark mountains lord their beauty over us in the dusk; they look like looming nuns, guarding the virginity of this land.
