Once upon a time, on a hot, dry October day, four friends went to see the Spiral Jetty.
They took one wrong turn. They drove over many ruts and rocks in the road. They brought some snacks.
First things first: they picnicked on the Jetty.
The snacks were as salty as the lake: olives, salami, sardines...
One of them cut to the center of the Jetty. One ran out across the salt flats. One walked the spiral like a meditation labyrinth, thinking of time and digression, but did not digress much. One digressed hither and yon.
One soaked up the sun.
One looked closely at icy looking salt.
One walked the trough, while another walked the bevel.
The one that had run out across the salt flats found a dead, salty pelican and ran back to tell the others.
And so they all went to see the dead thing.
And the sticks that looked like sculpture.
And it was very, very quiet.
and very, very bright.
Two took off their shoes and waded into the water. The salt crystals stabbed their feet.
They plucked gigantic cubes of salt from the water.
Cubes within cubes within cubes.
One forgot to wear sunscreen.
The brine shrimp swam and died and turned the water pink.
They rested.
One sang songs from Les Miserables and danced while another ran out to see the other jetty, the jetty that had to do with oil, the jetty that must have come second.
And then they drove away, the car kicking up dust, the friends licking salt from their lips. But the Jetty stayed behind, like it always does, underwater, overwater, far from water, slowly crumbling and tumbling apart.
