The desert bows to the sun and endures. Without an abundance of moisture, change comes slowly and stays long. Within each of us, there is a desert that will remain when we are gone.
Ravens watch over the canyon, in exchange for near effortless flight.The lost horizon is a fair trade for the intimacy that canyons provide.A canyon is a book, each page turned by the sun moving through the day.Far from the canyon wall, there’s a river delta that was born of the canyon.To know a canyon is to know the ever changing wind.Those waters that are deep, but not still; they are the sculptor of canyons.The canyon has two parents. If one is light, the other is dark. If one is resilient, the other is fragile. Canyons are born of opposing forces.The Grand Canyon, like a mountain turned upside down, is home to all seasons.Ask the canyon, “Where have you been?” The answer is always, “Here”.Has it ever been more true than in a canyon? The whole is greater than the sum of its parts.Like the shapes of clouds, canyons let loose the imagination.The canyon is a desert – gone underground.Some might argue that the best way to view the canyon is sideways.If mountains are the spine of the continent, canyons are the soul, created from the book of time.
