Death Valley, California. Inhospitable. Barren. Hot. Dry. Monochrome.
Maybe at first sight, but soon you realize there is beauty there, tucked into crevices, in patches of green where the underground river nears the surface, in the subtle shading of rocks crumbling into sand, under an impossibly blue sky, in the brilliance of a wildflower, in the paintbox of oxidizing mica in the rocks of Artist’s Drive. 42 more words