Southern Utah

The question hardly has sense, “what’s the most beautiful place you’ve been?” but that doesn’t stop the asking or the answering. As if affect and mood weren’t substantial factors, if one’s history there, the afterimages of conversations had, as if the ghosts and aches didn’t make the difference, or as if the pains, existential or bodily, didn’t decide it.

And how big a place is a place? An entire country, what can be surveyed standing in one spot, what can be taken in in just a day? An intuitive sense of continuity of landscape until a qualitative break that may have little to do with political or practical boundaries?

Well, anyway, I’m there now. An area — east of interstate 15 and south of 70, as far as Moab or maybe Durango, north of and including the Grand Canyon — I know well but that always and sublimely speaks.

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2 thoughts on “Southern Utah

  1. Back when I believed that heaven is something we create from our memories, I used to tell people that my heaven was going to be Zion National Park in the winter.

    • A lovely image, Jill, appreciate you sharing. I don’t believe in the gods or in any life other than this one, so what you’re saying is appealing: the only heaven we can have is where we’ve been or will be in embodied experience, with those who were there with us in thought or fellowship.

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