Before Daedalus there was the Grand Canyon. Described as a labyrinth by John Wesley Powell, the canyon itself winds on a course following the Colorado river. Yet a seemingly endless number of side and slot canyons, waterfalls, channels, passage ways, alcoves and grottos draw you further down from the rim or up from the river. You travel into them finding them to dead end into massive cliffs or quiet hollows carved smooth. The passages spout forth water with light blue colors that refresh, or sometimes they throw water downward with crushing force as it drops hundreds of feet, and sometimes there is no more than a silent drip across moss. Other times the passages contain nothing but dry beds filled with rocks only giants could have moved, waiting for the next storm. They are not flat. They climb and wind.
There is a spirit that wafts through these labyrinths. Sometimes on a feather like breeze, other times urgently rushing by announcing the oncoming storm as the rain travels down from the sky and then courses across the rocks. You can find solace and solitude hidden in the labyrinth in the quiet of the canyons. You can reflect in the heat and rest in the pockets of cool shade. The Grand Canyon is more than a carved crevasse into the annals of time – it is an endless channels and paths to wherever you will let it take you.