Intent on our destinations, how many anonymous places do we pass without slowing, or glancing out a window to see what we’re missing?
Driving southeast from Hanksville, Utah, towards Blanding, I pulled into an unnamed, unsigned graveled area off the highway and parked my truck. A few minutes to stretch the legs, rest tired eyes, listen to the quiet (which hummed in the twilight), and look around.
The traveler sees what he sees, the
tourist sees what he has come to see.
— Gilbert K. Chesterton