Being the Death Valley

Last night I dreamt that I was Death Valley National Park. I was the accumulation of the desert sands, the rocks, the scarce shrubs and tiny plants, and the critters like armadillos, coyotes, and turtles.

Even though I was millions of years old, I felt young. You could even say springily. It turns out an area of land feels young because it sees itself in a universe that’s trillions of years old. It’s a youngster.

I found myself appreciating the Sun beaming down on me. I loved that heat as it baked me, and stored in my rocks, dirt, and underground rivers. I felt like I was a savings account for the Sun’s rays.

Occasionally a family of humans would drive across one of the many roads that traverse me. The family would get out and take photos with their portable telephones. The humans had such a strange smell, and were loud. But I wasn’t bothered because they were a brief blip on my time radar.