State of Mind

Bryce Canyon National Park, Utah

Living in Florida my whole life and having only visited the eastern US, I never knew much about the southwest. I knew gold rushes, the Alamo, Moe's. I had heard that the heat can cook a mirage in your mind, that the dry wind carves colors on a mountain, and only near rivers does vegetation survive. What I learned on my trip out west is that the sun is a source of magic, rocks are a living species, and inspiration is found around every bend of winding road.

Utah is an enchanting state. Perhaps because I arrived from the dry and barren land of Arizona, crossing into Utah where the narrow Virgin River welcomed me with subtle glimpses of greenery. Just a few miles into the state and the vegetation thrived on the cold running water. I stopped once on a turn-around and followed a worn trail down to the water. The stream was too cold to enter, but the pebbles cooked and shined in the blazing sun. Smooth to the touch and rich in warm, earth-toned colors- oranges, red, yellows- it was very different than those eastern rivers that are so abundant - the pebbles smooth but grey, the water chilly but swimmable.

I returned to the car and drove on. The roads twisted through the foothills. The altitude changes were felt in my popping ears, but the height of these changes was not visible. The ascent was gradual, graceful. It did not terrify me like the Blue Ridge Parkway. The road was welcoming, the inclines not steep, the sky a light blue, the temperature a perfect 71 degrees.

Somewhere around Cedar City I pulled over to the side of the road and got out of the car. There was a gentle breeze, the tall-grass swayed in a rhythm through a pasture, green mountains towered around me. I didn't want to speak with fear of disrupting nature's natural cadence. I watched for a while, and then drove on.

In the mountains, the magic appeared. Forests of ponderosa pines turned into vast meadows of green grass, purple wildflowers and grazing deer. Quarries in mountain-top pastures unveiled black rocks of lava, a glimpse at creation and history. Spectacular views of the mountain range greeted visions of large crater lakes, deep blue pools of precious water and the givers of life.

But the canyons, oh, the canyons. The entrance to Bryce was much like the surrounding landscape of Utah - lush forests of pine and immense green pastures. The only way I knew I was coming to a vast canyon was the sign that warned of steep drop-offs. What it should have warned was sharp intake of breath, sudden awe-inspired fainting, and the instant decision that you never want to return back home.

Pocohantas was a native of the Eastern shores, yet she sang of the wind painting colors in the mountains. Pocohantas would have loved the southwest. Looking down from the solid clay of Bryce, the canyon lay below me, the hoodoos rising towards heaven with an orderly grace. Bryce Canyon, though not actually a canyon because of its lack of water, was created by erosion and wind. The striations on the long, lanky rocks, the deep colors that only deepened with the heat of the sun, the wind that blew through the walls and holes of rock - was all deeply moving. The picture above was taken from Inspiration Point, 8,000 feet above sea level. Looking down and out at canyon floor and walls, the earth never seemed more foreign. No oak trees or spanish moss, no waves crashing on sandy beaches, no humidity clinging to my pores -- the East was far away. And yet, I never felt more at home.