When Pilot and I start our journey toward the San Rafael Swell Recreation Area in Utah, we don't know what to expect. Pilot never really cares about what to expect other than his usual expectations that we'll have a good time. He doesn't care that that I'm taking us to check out this spot call The Wedge Overlook, which is supposed to be some kind of ravine-type-thing created by an upheaval of earth eons ago and through which flows the San Rafael River. He only cares that we're ambling along a dirt road with the windows down in a new and faraway place that smells dusty and fresh and sweet. I kinda only care about that, too, really.
Until we see this.
They call it The Little Grand Canyon.
It's not little, though.
I'm fairly certain that if I slip and fall into this canyon I will die five times in a row, however I have no intention of testing that theory.
This couple doesn't know that I took their picture so please don't tell them.
Brave shrubs cling to the precipice with either complete acceptance that eventually the ground to which they are anchored will erode away and they will plunge into the abyss, or complete oblivion to said fate.
I feel wild appreciation for the textures, and for all 300mm of my zoom lens for letting me get a closer look without becoming part of the landscape.
The Little Grand Canyon does golden hour pretty well.
Sun on her face.
She feels it, I can tell.
The vultures feel it, too.
Circling.
Circling.
Waiting for me to fall in...
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