It’s very quiet here.  No trees with the leaves rustling in the wind.  No babbling brook near by.  Just the quiet whispers of shifting sand, lizards racing across the rocks and rabbits hopping around foraging.  The desert it quiet, but it whispers to those who will listen.  It speaks to me in those quiet whispers.  It whispers to me of light and shadow and texture and color.

The elements of time have created a living, ever changing masterpiece here.  Water here as an ocean a billion years ago layered the sand and the pressure made it rock.  Rivers washed away rock to create canyons of amazing depth and amazing textures.  A constantly unsettled planet moved to form mountains, bluffs and plateaus.  Wind had it’s part here in forming the textures of this place.  Now light reveals the tapestry of the desert, an endless palette of color and shapes.

Canyons of red, white and orange and the multitude of hues in between.  Smooth edges and walls seem to have been molded and formed just to hold the light.  Intricate patterns and textures formed by nature, the elements and time.

Michelangelo himself could not have created this masterpiece and never to this scale.

I call this place home, but I am truly just a visitor.  An observer of a moment in time; the briefest of moments that stretch back millennia.  Any one can feel at home here but no one could own this place.