As far as the eye can see, there is only rust-colored dirt and scrubby bushes. Mesas sit on the horizon, proudly proclaiming that this is their land, you are just a mere visitor. Each one has its own distinct character, though at first glance they all seem identical.

The bushes are far from lush tropical plants, and sometimes one stretch of road seems exactly like the last. Nonetheless, something about this landscape is breathtakingly beautiful.

There are a million shades of red in the velvety dirt, and the horizon is riddled with small mountains and ancient mesas, guardians of this land since long before any human laid eyes on her.


This is an exercise in description that I did on the way to the mission's trip to Arizona this past year and found buried in one of my notebooks today. Although I'll be the first to admit that the pictures make the land look dreary and boring, there is something about it when you're driving through the heart of it that cannot be captured in a picture. I tried to capture that in the words here.