With eight inches of average annual rainfall, the wind wrought canyons of the Southwest are a bleak, craggy, vista. The elements have given way to an otherworldly ecology, haunting and foreign.
Here, the distinctions between life and death are made thin and mortality is remembered as an immediate reality. Amidst some sort of stoic struggle, the petty doldrums of modern existence are muted, eclipsed by a greater perspective.
The weary parts of my soul are quieted. It is a welcome peace.
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| UT Route 50 at Sunset |