In some esoteric teachings, Zion is referred to as a spiritual point from which reality emerges. Also a fitting narrative for the brilliant red, cream and pink towering sandstone cliffs. This road I'd taken was home to a coral sandy ground, spring-fed waterfalls, hanging gardens and the magnificent Virgin River is also known as Zion. Zion National Park in Southern, Utah. The road to Zion was an unforgettable journey marked with spectacular viewpoints and some of the best hikes I'd ever experienced. Hanging on to the last days of November, Zion was breathtakingly brilliant with an Autumn palette. The massive canyon walls cast reflections onto the great Virgin River creating glowing scenes nestled among the colored trees, offset by a blue sky. A photographic paradise. Hiking to the Emerald Pools in the dark of dawn and spending time alone on the little beach at the upper pool was dreamlike. Exploring the surrounding plateau, my heart fell heavy for the farmlands. These slices of Americana instilled a sense of home and hometown American pride. Where perfectly composed scenes of landscape and life are happening right in front of you. I always envied these photographic little worlds, having never really witnessed them outside of a painting or someone else's photograph. A reminder that there IS life outside the grey city. One morning, out photographing a farm, I propped my tripod next to a wooden fence and became mesmerized by the view of the horses grazing in a sunny pasture. A barn with goats, a parked tractor, signs of a small garden and a dog in a dog house, laundry drying on a line, swaying. My head rested with the warm wooden fence under my chin, I became so lost in the scene I finally realized I'd been standing there daydreaming and utterly forgot what I had come to do. These times when you totally lose yourself in the photographic journey are what compels me. The road to Zion was contemplative and sedate , listening to a story via NPR about the Dakota War of 1862, the supposed great massacre by the Sioux Indians in Minnesota, as told and researched by two descendants of both sides. Utterly fascinating as I drove through the reservation lands. Spending Thanksgiving evening under the stars, in front of a campfire to the sounds of wild turkeys and the river behind me is how I'd prefer to ponder the meaning of gratitude. The road lead to much-needed time to reflect, finding a graceful state of mind and coming to the realization that.. It's a pretty cool life! The spiritual point from which reality emerges. My road to Zion.