Zion Ranch West, UT.

Two black birds approached as I stood there in awe of the wide open landscape I had just entered.  I heard them caw softly and covered the sun and squinted as they flew over Oso and me.  The panorama was so quiet, so still— they were a solitary duo in motion— and as they passed, the only thing aside from the silence was the sound of the air as it swooshed across their wings… whhh, whhh, whhh… they flapped across the blue sky and disappeared over the grassy ridge.  I stood in awe, in bliss.  A moo of a cow.  The buzz of a fly.  The hush of a plane overhead.  My kitchen sits now upon a rock cluster a few yards across from a patch of flowering weeds and strewn sticks.  My living room is a camp chair next to an Rtic cooler side table.  The Jambox plays softly with tunes of Latin jazz, African beats, and Brazilian samba.  As the night stretches across the plain, tiny orange firelights appear in the fields accompanied by murmurs of friends laughing.  This might be the most pristine, beautiful camp I’ve ever made my bed.  The crickets are starting to sing now, my own fire crackles, and the warm breeze touches my cheeks as I lift my wine to my lips and smile out at the nothingness that is filled with everything.  My citronella candle burns but does not keep all of the insects at bay.  It’s ok, I welcome it all tonight.  This is too magical not to share.  

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