Death Valley, California. Inhospitable. Barren. Hot. Dry. Monochrome.
Maybe at first sight, but soon you realize there is beauty there, tucked into crevices, in patches of green where the underground river nears the surface, in the subtle shading of rocks crumbling into sand, under an impossibly blue sky, in the brilliance of a wildflower, in the paintbox of oxidizing mica in the rocks of Artist’s Drive.
Grateful for the opportunity to fine tune my eyes to see beauty in a place where beauty, on the surface, appears scarce. Oh, but it’s there. And when your eyes adjust enough to notice, you discover it’s everywhere around you.