He turned it over, his eyes widening as he recognized her handwriting. “She was here before?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head softly. “She never made it to New Mexico. She just knew she would, one way or another.”
Jason stared at the postcard for a long time. Then he slipped it carefully into his shirt pocket right over his heart. “She really mapped out our whole lives, didn’t she?”
“She didn’t map out our lives,” I corrected him. “She just gave us a destination when we were too lost to find one ourselves.”
The Edge of the World (The Grand Canyon)
You can read a thousand books about the Grand Canyon. You can look at ten thousand photographs on a computer screen or a television documentary. None of it prepares you for the sheer, jaw-dropping silence of standing at Mather Point at sunrise.
We arrived at Grand Canyon National Park long before the tour buses started rolling in. The air was biting cold—barely twenty-eight degrees—and frost coated the wooden guardrails along the rim.
