It is difficult to not be consumed by the vast and seemingly endless space out here at Dry Falls. I find myself searching for anything that will give me comfort: A pair of trusting and safe eyes or a friendly hello that echoes its way to my ears, but there is only thick silence. The air is dense with insects; each breath is protein-filled and uncomfortable. This factor makes the search for familiarity urgent. A pair of deer eyes find mine, observing my every move with a heightened sense of awareness and curiosity. The desire to find another human being is replaced with the excitement of life in any form acknowledging my existence. This interaction is short but satisfying, for it proves that if I can remove my urban-dwellers lens, I can see t his place as it is. It was then that I realized I was at a Spring in the middle of a desert/ex-mega-flood, staring intimately into the eyes of a deer. The lens that had kept me from experiencing the present moment began to flee. As I sat down in attempts to put this space into words, I wondered if this place had anything to say for itself. I wondered if this place could speak, what would it say?

“I am a home, to the quail and the deer and the basalt and the scab. I am a subjective land open for observation. I am a mystery, but only to the human eye. ”