The straight and the narrow.

Once, I was standing on the South Rim of the Grand Canyon looking down. My feet were covered in dust and upon them I swayed in air that smelled like juniper. I saw the tops of the great outstretched wings of the condors making wide arcs along the canyon walls. I watched lightning strike the opposite rim as the tiny Colorado wound its way through sheaths of red rock towards Mexico. Now, I think often of John Wesley Powell and the violence this place showed him. Did he think he was dreaming? I dream often of gigantic landscapes and airplanes. Tomorrow, I get to see both. To look down on all of the birds in all of America and cross the plains and the Rockies and the Nevadas, and the great Colorado and Mojave deserts all unrolling and wicked in their dryness. And until then, good night and safe travels. I know many of you are coming home tomorrow too.