Springdale

It was two days before Thanksgiving when I pulled into the small southern Utah town of Springdale. The afternoon light was quickly fading as the sun descends over the western mountains.

Known as the gateway to Zions National Park, this was a special place that I sadly hadn’t been to for many years. I think about a family trip in 2002 where I took my girlfriend’s kids down here. We camped with my parents, my youngest brother and his fiancé, and of course my sister.

My brother and our friend camped here in the late 90’s, arriving after dark and finding a spot along the river, nestled in between the towering rocks and a herd of deer.

Time has a funny way of changing your perspective. I see Springdale through an ever changing prism. I smile at her beauty, cry with emotion over the memories I have here, and look forward to making new discoveries while here this time around.

As dark closes in, I sip my vegetable soup in the Rose Cottage, admiring the paintings of the National Park that adorn the walls.

Wench, bring my ale, what say you?

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