The Anthropology of Turquoise

I have had little time to read for pleasure as of late. I took two classes over the summer, an environmental geology class and a sociology class, neither of which provided me with enjoyable reading material. I have sprinkled in some Sylvia Plath, of which I was surprised to find myself unimpressed, and a handful of other reads not worth mentioning. That was until I picked up a book in Moab that has effortlessly drifted me into the dichotomy of the southwest. The Anthropology of Turquoise, by Ellen Meloy, has the most beautiful imagery of color and landscape. I do not typically employ words such as stunning and vibrant to literature, but this is perhaps the only way I know to best describe Meloy's use of language.

Last month I spent a day on the Colorado River. It was my first time in a kayak and the first time in almost two decades since I have been on a raft. The scenery was breathtaking, but the water, the water was resplendent. I slipped off the raft and into the water for a reprieve from the heat where I was enveloped in the cool waters of the Colorado. It felt astonishing on my skin. I have loved the water my entire life, but a new appreciation comes from being carried across its surface.

An excerpt from The Anthropology of Turquoise,

In ancient Rome women were inclined to wear nothing but pearls when they swam in the sea. Non recte recipit haec nos rerum natura nisi nudos, worte Pliny, the Roman naturalist. The sea receives us in a proper way only when we are naked. Water on the skin surrounding unclad limbs, urges forth some forgotten impluse toward bliss.

I shall have pearls in hand the next time I head towards the river, or perhaps the bathtub.