A few months ago my girl and and I went to Stansbury Island on the Great Salt Lake--it is a desert landscape surrounded by vast, seemingly limitless, stretches of water. There is a large heard of cattle that roams the northern end of the island, and on the southern end--which is actually attached to the surrounding desert, much like a peninsula--are several evaporation ponds, salt factories, biking and hiking trails, and a myriad of dirt roads--not to mention a few nude male sunbathers. Just don't look too close, and you'll be okay.
The island has a desolate eloquence, which gives one the impression of timelessness. It is seemingly the birthplace of our world. Ancient, and new at the same time. Everything is slowed down here: life, death, decay, and even re-birth. There is beauty. The golden hue of lazily swaggering flora. The crisp airy sky and the deep, restless water slowly moving, tapping, tapping against the brilliant whites of shoreline. There is life--mountain lions roam the in solitude along the far edges of the high back country, birds sweep across the horizon as they migrate North in the spring and South again in the autumn, rabbits bound across the flat brush covered lowlands down near the lake, and then you have the creepers and crawlers. The bugs, flys and the pesky mosquitoes. They are all here on Standsbury Island, living and dying. It is a wonderful place. A place were one can reflect on the past, the present and one's own mortality.