My Place looks like no other I have been to. The walls in my place rise above the sky and is layered in colors of deep red, orange, and burnt rustic rock. The water in my place falls slowly over the rocks and looks like a chocolate milk spill that winds on for miles and miles across endless space. I find freedom moving along the spill in a large rubber tub.
I spot a great blue heron nesting in the dull green cedar salt. I worry the cedar salt will over grow all the other native plants of willow and sagebrush. I leave my worries behind and begin to wonder. This wondering leads me to a red sandy bank, as I step down onto the shore my foot sinks and instantly burns from the heat radiating from the sand.
As I walk across the beautiful, barren, sagebrush and sand landscape, the sun burns so intensely down upon my shoulders. I need to find shade to cool myself. Off in the distance there is wild horses talking to each other under a drooping Cottonwood. I wonder on for a mile and come across old Indian petroglyphs; there I find shade and an appreciation for another who once lived in this place.
Who where the people who lived in this place? What kind of lives did they live? What was really important to them? All of a sudden the freedom I felt before is taken because of the life I live away from this place. What is this place? Why do I feel this way? I have been searching for so long for something and I think I just found it, me. This is the place I want to live.