Either way, we decided that we did still have time to see some of Capital Reef National Park, which ended up being the place on our trip that awed me the most.
It was a fairly common sight to see arch shapes inscribed on the faces of rocks, and that's one of the first things I was amazed by as we approached the park on Route 24.
There is a scenic drive that runs south through the park and we decided to take that as an easy way to see some sights without having to be too worried about the weather. Everything that showed itself around each corner of the road made me feel reverence for the powers of earth, wind, and water, and I wished I could see a slow-motion movie of how each formation was created.
The rocks in some parts of the park were predominantly a bright red-orange, which stood out bathed in sunlight against the incoming gray clouds.
Other areas had strong bands of grays and yellows. It's so interesting to see the hardness of different layers of rocks, how some become sheer verticals while others disintegrate into sand, and others still become rock shards and fragments.
In some areas, we were able to see the rocks against the pieces of blue sky that still remained above us, and I think those were my favorite. 
Rock lace sounds like an impossibility but when faced with it, fragile and delicate, I couldn't think of a better name myself.
During the drive, we took a side road into a canyon that warned us not to enter if rain was threatening, as we could end up in a flash flood and die. While this worried us somewhat with the approaching storm, we decided the skies looked clear enough for now and ventured down the road.
Massive walls of rocks like this are what awe me about the west:
I had a dream last night in which I was Alice in Wonderland. As my brain processed my dream in a state of half-wakefulness this morning, I realized that the reason I like traveling so much is that it reminds me of how small I am, or how big, how simple and how complicated. It makes me remember why I love being alive and why I love being myself.
My different experiences allow me to feel soft and strong, peaceful and exhilarated, and most importantly: ALIVE. My regular life, my regular job and doing regular things is just living. 
There was a green-gray band of rock that was visible at times in the park, and it brought me back to the flowing green-gray river of trees through the canyon on Route 12, and the green-gray of budding life that flowed through the center of Zion.
The red rock formation on the left is called the Egyptian Temple:
As we drove back north out of the park, we came to a downhill area of the road that presented us with a view of wave after wave of beautiful rock formations jutting out to the west:
In the distance we could see snow, though the land around us was entirely desert.
We rejoined Route 24 and continued east toward a hike we decided to take, and found the original old town schoolhouse on the way:
Another turn-around area off the road showed us petroglyphs etched into the red rock walls. Previously, I had only seen petroglyphs of abstract symbols at Chaco Canyon and Bandelier National Monument. At Capital Reef, the human figures were less abstract, and I felt overwhelmed to see such interesting representations of humans drawn hundreds of years ago.
An orchard flourished on a narrow strip between the rock face and the highway:
We stopped for our hike to a natural bridge and found ourselves in a sea of black rocks strewn around the ground. We couldn't decide if they were volcanic or just charred from a fire.
The bridge was beautiful and managed to look both solid and delicate at the same time. Our hike took us through the center of the bridge and back around the other side. 
Some of the rocks on this hike looked like layers of mud pressed down together over thousands of years.
We were sheltered for most of the hike from the wind by the rock walls around us, but as we emerged and began descending once again toward the car we found ourselves once again exposed. Taking note of the strength of the wind and the progression of the clouds, we decided not to stop at Arches National Park but continue straight home and hope to beat the storm to the mountains. As we drove, the beautiful random snowy peaks that thrust up from the desert, one of my favorite things about Utah, were half-covered in the wispy bottoms of storm clouds.
We continued to see beautiful rock formations along the way as we took Route 24 back to I-70.
We had heard about a sand storm that was going on but hadn't yet seen it. It finally showed itself to us as the road turned and we headed north, a hazy band of red dirt swirling around on the horizon:
Most of the exits along I-70 in eastern Utah are called "Ranch Exit", and we began making jokes about them as we passed them. It doesn't really feel like you're getting anywhere when you continue to pass the same exit over and over, and sometimes that's what life feels like for me right now:
I want to find an exit that excites me, that promises adventures and learning and Alice in Wonderland-type experiences. I want to find an exit for ALIVE, not for life. I wonder if this is an exit that all people seek or if some have actually found it and are able to live their lives there.
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