In a place once thought lost forever, there is a reminder of hope and resilience.
It’s a veld, where modernity meets times older than we could ever comprehend and shows us emergence we can only dream of.
Where the mark of man’s lack of care for holy places feels like a fading memory, insignificant in contrast to the return of a giant.
Glen Canyon.
It’s a place between worlds.
A living, breathing juxtaposition where mystery paints aliveness in greens, blues, reds, purples on a canvas wiped clean; a place thought lost.
Lake Powell is dying and with its passing, the rightful heartbeat of this place is returning.
The shutter clicks.
Not because I need a photograph to remember what a camera can never truly capture, but because there is value in choosing what we see—in bearing witness to the return of these places, for the canyon’s sake as much as our own.
Maybe these places need to be seen again. Loved again.
Admired as they once were.
