"And in the desert, when the sun comes up...I couldn't tell where heaven stopped and the earth began." -Forrest Gump
I visited the southwest for the first time in my life last March. I traveled alone to Sedona, AZ, and immediately fell in love. The desert, a stretch expected to be barren and lifeless, was more alive and exuded an indescribable energy unlike anything I had ever felt before. The succulent plants reached sizes I never imagined, defying nature by not only surviving, but thriving in this extreme climate. The red rock formations towered around the city on all sides, and their color was different every few minutes as the sun changed positions overhead. I spent hours each night lying outside wrapped in a blanket and sipping tea while watching the unending pattern on stars in the sky. The more I looked, the more stars appeared. I know people usually say they feel so small or insignificant when looking at the night sky, or the ocean, or other great features of our universe. But in that moment, I didn't feel small or insignificant. I felt connected. Everything is made up of the same particles, the same dust, the same life that has existed since the beginning. I was in awe of that night sky, and in awe of the plants and animals and people around me that are composed of the same atoms as those stars, albeit in a different composition. And the sunrises...I had this formation called Elephant Rock right outside my bedroom window, and every morning I would wake up at 5:30 so that I could witness the sun starting its climb, illuminating the figure from behind. Then I'd go outside while it was still quite dark, and make the short hike to the base of Elephant Rock. Sunrises in the desert are different from those anywhere else I have been. The birds don't wake up before the sun, like they do here in North Carolina. Everything is still, quiet. But you can feel the energy, like a buzzing or bubbling building inside you. I found myself holding my breath and crossing my arms, trying to be still as possible so as to not ruin the moment. Then, as the rays of sun start reaching around Elephant Rock, the world begins to wake--the sky alive with color, the light making the mica in the rocks glisten, the rustles of birds and animals finally waking up, the breeze lifting my hair along with the branches of the shrubs around me. Giggles rose and burst from my lips as I witnessed this waking up, and the buzzing energy inside me increased. I felt alive in a way I have never felt before, and I cannot wait to go there again.
Megan Tumpey, New Jersey
Environmental Educator
I visited the southwest for the first time in my life last March. I traveled alone to Sedona, AZ, and immediately fell in love. The desert, a stretch expected to be barren and lifeless, was more alive and exuded an indescribable energy unlike anything I had ever felt before. The succulent plants reached sizes I never imagined, defying nature by not only surviving, but thriving in this extreme climate. The red rock formations towered around the city on all sides, and their color was different every few minutes as the sun changed positions overhead. I spent hours each night lying outside wrapped in a blanket and sipping tea while watching the unending pattern on stars in the sky. The more I looked, the more stars appeared. I know people usually say they feel so small or insignificant when looking at the night sky, or the ocean, or other great features of our universe. But in that moment, I didn't feel small or insignificant. I felt connected. Everything is made up of the same particles, the same dust, the same life that has existed since the beginning. I was in awe of that night sky, and in awe of the plants and animals and people around me that are composed of the same atoms as those stars, albeit in a different composition. And the sunrises...I had this formation called Elephant Rock right outside my bedroom window, and every morning I would wake up at 5:30 so that I could witness the sun starting its climb, illuminating the figure from behind. Then I'd go outside while it was still quite dark, and make the short hike to the base of Elephant Rock. Sunrises in the desert are different from those anywhere else I have been. The birds don't wake up before the sun, like they do here in North Carolina. Everything is still, quiet. But you can feel the energy, like a buzzing or bubbling building inside you. I found myself holding my breath and crossing my arms, trying to be still as possible so as to not ruin the moment. Then, as the rays of sun start reaching around Elephant Rock, the world begins to wake--the sky alive with color, the light making the mica in the rocks glisten, the rustles of birds and animals finally waking up, the breeze lifting my hair along with the branches of the shrubs around me. Giggles rose and burst from my lips as I witnessed this waking up, and the buzzing energy inside me increased. I felt alive in a way I have never felt before, and I cannot wait to go there again.
Megan Tumpey, New Jersey
Environmental Educator