I wonder if words are clumsy to describe places like these. Beautiful and spectacular seemed like dull understatement. They transcended mere beauty and touched something deeper still, resounding an accord with our more primal emotions that predated spoken or written words.
Perhaps to see this land white or green were still within reach of my imagination. Yet it is in this rusty hue that I discover a richness of colors and details unlike I have realized.
Many were the tourists buses, but alas none linger too long. We were only allowed a brief few minutes to take pictures before being ushered off again. I would appreciate more time in this amazing vale. But it was getting rather cold. After all, it was the fiercer hands through the ages that sculpted such magnificent work.
Dreams are to be dreamt, and when the door would open again, I would chance to walk upon these wild places again.
What does the world beyond the Stable Door holds, if such grandeur can be found in a world groaning too long in the pain of childbirth?
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