We Are All Ripples of Hope in the Battle for Our Public Lands
A lyrical essay on the Virgin River and Zion National Park that uses the creek's deceptive power as a metaphor for the subtle but profound force shaping the battle over public lands stewardship.
Stand in the Virgin River in late summer and you’ll wonder what all the fuss was about. At low flow it barely reaches your ankles. It moves slow and shallow over the stones, warm at the edges, so unhurried you could fall asleep to the sound of it. It doesn’t look like a force. It looks like a creek that lost its ambition, going nowhere in a hurry. Standing in it, you’d be forgiven for thinking it couldn’t move the gravel under your own feet. Then look up. Look up at Zion. Two thousand feet of sheer sandstone rising on both sides of you, a cathedral the color of fire that no human hand ever tou
