Roaming and playing and singing and swaying.
The RV chugged along…
Drifting through Flagstaff, The Grand Canyon, Zion, Salt Lake, Yellowstone and The Grand Tetons. The days were long, the nights warm. The road welcomed us with a beautiful glow. The clouds danced across the windshield for us in playful shapes. Oh the clouds, so soft and pristine against the indigo sky. We slept under the stars listening to the howl of the wolf. I drank in the power of the world as I’d wake at the break of dawn, watching the sunrise over the Grandest crimson Canyon I had ever seen, my heart was alive and curious and content.
Never had I seen this Southwest American landscape. Solemn, rugged and barren, it’s a place I discovered is for the seekers, the explorers, the artists, the dreamers and poets. A place where the springs run hot, the canyons run deep, and the valleys even deeper. The waterfalls and rivers rage with wild independence, carving away the land to make way for new life. The buffalo roam with utter strength and grace. The lakes reflect all that they encounter, forcing you to see eye to eye. The land takes on an otherworldly existence in its formations of the elements: wildlife, rock and water. I felt my existence, just as the ocean, powerful and telling always brings me back to where I need to be.
For miles and miles our time travel machine brought us to lands I could not believe were real. We explored, and explored some more and a little more. We made fires and fished and laughed and made coffee and drank beer and told stories and hiked mountaintops and learned the history of this mysterious American landscape. We slept in our travel machine on dirt roads, truck stops, parking lots, along rivers, on mountain tops, and campsites. Arriving home, inspired, tired and alive – I miss that adventures and dream of them often.
I’ll visit the Southwest again soon. Who’s free next week? Let’s Go.