We are tiny. Mortals next to majesty. Rocks reach as high as God. They are temples, made sacred by the holy waters of history: tears that left scars on the surface.
Green pushes up, strong against rock, defying desert, clinging to a craggy stone front, like a child to its mother.
Sand and sage. Red clay. Blue sky. Stillness.
Every panorama a painting.
1 comment:
i wish i could type in a gigantic red heart in this comments section. love this.
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