The Hair on the Back of my neck …

Always in search of amazing, unusual, cultural, architectural, archaeological and beyond-beautiful sights to enshrine in my camera (that I can then share with others in search of picture perfect presents for themselves and those they care about), I recently found myself slowly heading down a rutted and rugged back (dirt) road in southeastern Utah. 

In search of, that is, photographs that will inspire, amuse, educate, and (most importantly) connect people to the unique and irreplaceable treasures of this Earth and our American public lands (which, especially considering the current climate) need to be preserved and protected for future generations. Because they are, without a doubt, irreplaceable. 

My eyes were focused on the ups and downs and ins and outs of the landscape displaying incredible options for photographs (my best friend, Angela, was driving, so I could – if necessary – vault out of the car at a moment’s notice if I spied a great potential shot), we came around a corner and I felt a cool breeze dance through the open window and tease through the hair on the back of my neck …. 

The sun was high, the wind was cool, and nothing looked out of the ordinary to me. But I felt the call of something very, very unusual.  

Then I saw it. Looking up, expecting only more amazing red-and-black stone to stare back, I saw the home. Ancient home.  

Squeaking some unintelligible noise that my friend now understands as “STOP,” I grabbed the door handle before Angela could even hit the brakes. Swinging the door open, I had the camera up to my eyes faster than … well, faster than I could say, “Holy …. Wow.”  

Asking permission from the ones before the ones who built this home to gather an indelible imprint of a treasure that hands, hearts, and hope had crafted perhaps thousands of years ago, I clicked and clicked and clicked.  

The walls and lines and edges were impeccable. The craftsmanship was perfection.  

Just when I was busy wondering how many people just pass this by, I heard the engine of a vehicle fast approaching. And, yep, that Jeep whipped past me (tossing waves of dirt right into my face) and the people inside never even looked up.  

Hmmm. How many treasures do we pass by? How many times do we, in search of that, fly by this?  

I don’t know, but Angela (now out of the car and eating dust as well as me, or as much as me), and I stared up at that ancient home and said nothing more than “wow” and “wow” and “wow.”  

This gift, this glimpse into the lives of people from so long ago, filled my mind and my heart, and my imagination. Why up there? How long did they stay? Where did they go? I could almost hear the laughter of little ones climbing up and down and all over the rocks while I stood there lost in questions and imaginings.  

Yes, I’ve seen many (too many) a YouTube video lately with people finding these ancient treasures, and way too many of them climbing on and over and around them – with more thought to clicks than to the fact that these treasure belong to all of us; that they are our heritage; that they can never be replaced. 

So, I only touched the treasure with my eyes, my imagination, my questions, my impressions – and, yes, my camera. 

To share with you.  

When my friend and I eventually climbed back into the vehicle and started away, I could feel the cool lingering breeze dance through the open window and across my face – and tease through the hair on the back of my neck ….  

What a gift.

A mystery of perfection …