There are places that echo of memories. I was here once, in what feels like a dream. The world was white covered, a rare desert snowfall that had us turning to our jackets and mittens.
My Dad forced me out of the car. My brother rambled off facts he read on signs. I grumbled and moaned and moseyed. I looked at the land blandly, a stubborn and tired teenager.
Now, I feel small in this place. I can feel the ancestral roots that dig deeper than the canyon floor below me. I hear the stories of people long before me and the ones that flow out after me. It was here before us. It will be here long after we are gone.
° 09.18.2018 |
Grand Canyon National Park