Cacti. Pinon pine. Indian paintbrush. An evening hike into the warm stones lining Watchman Trail. Send us gifts. Red and orange sunset hues fall down over us like waves. The last bit of light graces the jagged tip of a mountain peak. It's transformed to gold, and my heart sings. This last bit of hope. Of warmth. Of illumination stays with me and I feel, once again, the magic of this time. This moment. The magic of the mountains and the sky and the moon. And I know I'm on the right road.
Nova pricks her finger on a cactus, and we spend some time removing each, microscopic spine. With each step into the magic light of dusk, her smile returns. On the lookout for mountain lions and lizards and snakes, on my. Row-row-row a boat atop the dock of red rock. Laugh and dance along the "happy stage," a flat rock along the Virgin River. Laugh by laugh. Tear by tear. Everything lies along this path, and we welcome every step.