Sand...tiny little rocks. Small sediment and layers of time, slowly swirled into the contours of the canyons. I gaze in wonder at the sharp towers, the steep walls, and the smooth plateaus. Such intricate patterns, carved over time and preserved just for this moment - this contact, soul to soul.
I recognize this landscape.
It’s the smoothness of time sifting through our hands, falling out of reach. The rocky pillars, building up with the silent winds of personal pressure, until we can no longer navigate the caves of our inner voice. The strong boulders falling, forcing us to shift. The sweltering heat of high noon that sends us searching for shelter.
But it’s also the hope in the slight crack of the first light of dawn. The singular bud on a tiny cactus, promising to bloom tomorrow. The sand between my toes, scraping off the skin that no longer serves my body. And the slowly stacked cairns guiding our way. That is, if we can spot them.
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