A week. That's all we had.
LA to Zion. Zion to Bryce. Bryce to the Grand Canyon. Each place stripped away another layer. By the time we hit Sedona, we weren't the same people who'd left.
I hiked every day. Not checking boxes. Just moving through the landscape, letting it work on me. The Coconino National Forest became a place to think. Each canyon had something to say if you listened.
The vortexes weren't mystical. They were just places so beautiful you had to see yourself clearly. The energy was real. Clarity.
Final morning. My wife slept in. One last trail.
Boynton Canyon. Secret Mountain Wilderness Area. Another hiker offered to take my photo. I stood in that passage while they framed it, capturing what I couldn't alone.
Standing there between stone and sky, the week made sense. Not about conquering anything. Not about finding myself. About losing the noise. About being reduced to breath, footstep, sight, wonder.
This hike was goodbye.
Back at the hotel, my wife was awake. Ready to drive home. Something stayed in that canyon. We'd come as tourists. We were leaving as people changed by rock and silence. Now we had to carry it back into the world.