It was that point in the afternoon when muscles are cranky and fatigue starts to complain. I stopped to ask a St. George (Utah) local about a rejuvenating hike. “Red Cooper Cove, hands down,” he said. “It’s challenging, breathtaking and void of tourists.” I was sold.

The hike began as any typical one, though I’m not sure how typical one could ever consider America’s west. Grandiose mountains sharpened the horizon, while mid-sized structures shaped my foreground. The path was rough, clearly unengaged by the masses, and the earth’s heat permeated my shoes.

Little mileage found me in hand’s reach of the rocks, hiking through canyon classrooms and sand-filled crevices. A more risky portion (mom, don’t read this) found me clinging to uneven walls and edging above a hefty fall, which I hoped grounded deep water. With rich breaths and a racing heartbeat, I entered into a hollowed canyon. Rounding the corner, I was washed into perfection. Pure, uncanny perfection. Rock walls reached as I high as I could see, and sunbeams decorated a sparkling pool before me.

The most astounding thing, however, was what I “heard.” Or didn’t hear, rather. The canyon’ed cove enveloped me into a surreal state of presence. Empty presence, but blissfully full, too.

It was silent.

Library silence is one thing. Being underwater is another. But this experience birthed a new dimension. Nature’s symphony had taken the stage—and I was in the front row. Movement was paralyzed, as this Stranger enticed me. The longer I sat, the more I heard; the more I muted, the louder silence spoke. My breath was the first sound, followed by a swallow, mimicking an abrupt crash of waves. Wind sung of thunder and rock clovers whispered with each neighboring rub. Flies tap-danced along the waters edge, while wind skated over the glistening pool. Even the rocks spoke with a pride unsurpassed. I felt like a child, invincibly held by Creation, itself.

Before long, dusk made her entrance and my paradise had to end. I hiked down to the land of the living, where a car engine roared and the best of CDs sounded numbingly trite. In those few short hours, it seemed that the world hadn’t changed, but in some way, I was convinced that mine had.

Silence is Peace and peace is what we were made for. Go out and find it today.

***

(On a less story’ish note, I trekked through Colorado and Utah yesterday, plus a few minutes of Arizona and Nevada. Majestic mountains, glorious caves and exquisite canyons—including the Grand one, herself. Post-hike adrenaline coerced me into two more hours of driving, ending my day in Las Vegas. Five’ish hours today and I’ll be home. One exhilarating journey’s end, with another one ready to begin.)