Rolling between orange monoliths, Garden of the Gods is a passage. Entrance and exit become one in the same. Time and place become more distant. One look at the surrounding sizes and shapes and it’s easy to see why there is a spiritual connection here. For Apache, Comanche and Lakota native peoples, for pioneers of the early American West and for the number of tourists like myself just driving through, there is serenity and humility in the face of the chaotic balance of boulder, tree and sand. Across the expanse of the park the land rises and falls, crests and troughs like the fin or backbone of some great underwater beast breaking the surface. Towers of crimson rock, shields of scarlet stone and amber-colored giants seem to guard the park as if protecting the lost garden of Eden. Delicate and strong, each massive upheaval reaches higher to the heavens, upward in a series of red spires that resemble something more Martian that Earthen. Standing in
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