The wind and wash whispered of times long ago.

At times softly.

At times dramatically.

On our hike through the dry, deep streambed of the Grand Wash at the rocky sculpted heart of Capitol Reef yesterday, we were surrounded by ancient spirits and guardians watching us.

The deep canyon and narrows kept close eye as we explored.

Footsteps echoed between sandstone cliffs looming hundreds of feet above.

Blossoms and lizards greeted us along the way.

Naturally sculpted rock gardens invited us onto their sacred grounds.

Creatures etched in the stone walls came alive.

The Fremont River chimed in with the wind’s flow at the end of the wash.

And although we could not see the Bighorn sheep that are said to grace the high sandstone terraces of the canyon, we could sense them near and “seeing” us.

There was an air of majesty and mystical eeriness, especially when the wind suddenly spoke with a wild howl and burst through the canyon upon us with great force, only to disappear again from the nothingness it came from.

The flow shifted back and forth from tailwind to headwind constantly, as if the wind was playing with us, blowing my hair wildly around me and knocking off Dave’s hat.

It seemed excited for us to be there and tickled our souls with its ancient voice.

Once again we were taken to times long forgotten, but now once again remembered.