It has been four months since my last post. But in the midst of lengthy papers and college finals, the photographs have not stopped. In the spring my family and I went to Las Vegas. Before we left, a close family friend recommended that we take one afternoon to visit a place uncommonly explored by Vegas tourists. It is called Red Rock Canyon, forty minutes from the strip. The name alone intrigued me; I wanted to see the red rocks. I pictured them in my head, drawing up images from movies and paintings, I saw deep rich red rocks, carefully crafted by wind’s hands to fold and branch in every direction. Red Rock Canyon isn’t like that, I discovered. But it didn’t make it any less majestic. These rocks towered; huge mounds of patterned, jagged, red-tinged earth. And they were painted by rain the day we went. The red to brown to maroon to orange tones wrapped and splashed and draped and dripped down the white rocks from every angle. And strangely, I felt wildly adventurous climbing them. With each step the face looked different, lined and cracked here, smooth there. Click Click Click Clicking my camera in the sprinkling spring rain, I tried to take what I could from the desert rocks.