The Valley of Fire

There is something so comforting to me about being on the road. The act of driving itself, I love. I love the rules and structure of driving. Even when I was a kid, I'd ask to push the grocery cart for my mom and I would obey all of the rules of the road (pushing my cart on the right side, shoulder checking to pass, stopping at the end of an aisle before looking both ways and turning). Driving is comforting to me. And then, of course, there's the sense of adventure. Of getting lost and seeing new things. Of the unknown. Of the ability to both escape and arrive somewhere. Here's a recent place I drove to when I was in Nevada with my mom, recommended to me by my southern baptist grandmother:

"When I first saw it, I thought to myself, is this what hell looks like? Of course, I don't wanna know." I could write an entire novel about her. 

Hell, heaven, wherever this place, I could have stayed here forever. I've never seen a place as colorful and vibrant (despite being a desert) before. Shot on film.

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