Today I went by myself to Bryce Canyon and had my mind blown, my soul rung like a bell, my thoughts empty but for the fragments of poetry that were playing out in front of my very eyes. TS Eliot, Peter Mulvey, Mary Oliver, Walt Whitman. So many of their words were with me today as I looked upon the likes of which I have never seen. It is not an exaggeration and I tell you with no shame: I walked down the path, and this vista opened before me. My knees went weak and I wept with awe, gratitude, humility, and the realization that we are so very small, so very finite, so very fragile. It was so beautiful.

I stood there, willing myself not to fall to my knees, trying to breathe and take it all in. Then the thunder spoke…Da Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata. Shantih. Shantih. Shantih.

Then, somewhere deep in my subconsciousness, spoke the voice of Larry Underhill. It interrupted my poetic rapture with the very sensical direction of “Get off an exposed trail when you hear thunder.” So off I went.