Zion National Park
I always thought I had to go far. I always thought I had to escape.
The sun beats down on my back, and for the first time, I don't mind. Now, I seek out the sun. I long for its vibrant pockets, cutting across the canyons, crashing through clouds, and coloring this cathedral of nature in varying shades of red, green, and gold.
I never had to escape. All I had to do was listen to the wind, and let it carry me right here.
Even my whispers echo off the emerald water and bounce between the canyon walls. Hers do too, waking me up like a falling rock on a sleeping squirrel. Bite. Scratch. Sniff. Here, I feel little need to be human.
Like the ground and the sky and all that is in between, I am earth, running through the weathered fingers of a mourning mother.
Bryce Canyon National Park
Chiseled in the pinks and whites and reds of this earthly empire is a poem. This is not that poem, nor is it an attempt to recapture the quiet lyrics of that soulful rhythm bellowing down below. This is something else, caught between a tribute and a love letter. This is the click-clack-click of a tumbling pine cone. The twisted reach of a blackened tree branch, leaning, leaning, leaning. Never breaking. This is a splash of evergreen in a sea of friendly fire, the wind beneath a hungry bird's wings. This is a young child's laughter at his father's bad joke. The hoodoos laugh too. The cries coalesce and echo off the canyon walls like they did for thousands of years prior. And beneath it all is a poem, never to be found. It cannot be seen through the rocky windows, nor felt in the tower's shadows.
Alas, there is a poem. And there, is sometimes all a poem needs to be.
Canyonlands National Park
I know where to get lost. One hundred miles down the road. Keep going, going, gone.
Framed by darkness, obscured by clouds is a place like the sky that sits deep in the ground.
Untouched by outlaws is a long dirt path, dwarfed by the sweeping walls of an unending palace. Rainbow rocks adorn these walls. Hold your breath and each will rise, giving way to new purples, new reds, new flashes of light so bright they blind the sun.
But you, you can see right through them.
Go to them. Carve these canyons in your image. Make them into an underwater castle all your own.
There are no dollar signs. No photographs.
Only layers. Only horses. Only deep breaths and salty tears. I know where to get lost. Will you show me how to be found?
Arches National Park
Court is in session, both never and always. Lawlessness reigns with a sky so blue. Anything less seems impossible.
You are impossible. A watchful eye in the distance, bridging this new world with the old. You are a thirsty crow, calling out for a family you could never abandon, even when you try your hardest.
In nature's amusement park, there are no lines, no ride operators, no souvenirs.
There is only play.
The sand plays when it blows behind your back, carrying from pebble to boulder. The children play when they climb from one arch to another, their parents gritting their teeth. The pricklypears play by taking a big gulp of water and never letting go.
I play too, with deep breaths and a heart that remains completely still.
Petrified Forest National Park
The sun is harsh, oppressive, unforgiving.
The sun is warm, supportive, and kind.
The sun is greedy yet giving.
Bitter yet bright. Malicious yet musical. The sun is constant.
Before the sun wrapped us up in its sweet, sweltering rays, it saw
many, many things.
It saw forests made of crystals and rainbows.
It saw lizards the size of our SUVS and birds the size of our sedans. It saw
an omnipotent hand reach down and draw beautiful brush strokes
across the desert, never
returning to take credit for this magnificent work of art.
It saw elephants roam in search of squashed-out
fires and flammable feathers, illuminated
ever so slightly against the backdrop of a moonlit sky.
And it was in this that the sun saw itself fading.
The sun never leaves, but only waits patiently in the glitz and glamour of the dark.
The sun waited for you and me. It waited to burn our backs and point us towards water.
It waited to wake us with
a dizzying headache. It waited to claim us as grains of sand in the
sugar-coated beaches of time.
Grand Canyon National Park
There and back is all there is when staring at the canyon walls. Down and up is all you'll be when swallowed by the canyon walls. You'll reach the end and want to return, to sit in the shade and read a book about a journey full of items lost and knowledge gained. If you squint your eyes, then through the haze you'll see mountains to climb and dunes to slide down. You'll crave a scorpion's poisonous grip and the screeching of a coyote's howl in your ear late at night. You'll consider climbing trees only for their branches to snap beneath your weight.
You'll love the colors of the rainbow, but you'll cry when it next rains. You'll dream of being devoured by these canyon walls, even as your memory of them wanes.
Death Valley National Park
Rising out from the salty depths of the arid desert is something sweet. A sundae with hot fudge and strawberry ice cream, already beginning to melt. To taste it would be to rob it of its mystery, to take the easy way out of a long, long life.
Life is long but it's also longing. Longing for a lick of an ice cream come after falling off the swingset. Longing for a snowcone at the local county fair.
Life is long and it is longing and it is lush, like a patchwork of greenery in a sea of sand. Life is love and it is loving. Life is lame. Life is a lullaby sung with a deep, gravelly voice. There is an anger bubbling beneath the surface of this sinking fault. Get out before it finds you.
Good, now close your eyes and smile.