My first visit had frustrated me two years before. I couldn't capture with camera what I was feeling: my awe of the immense landscape, my view of life struggling to survive such a harsh environment, or my appreciation for the ancient geologic forces exposed by the erosion of time. By visiting again, I felt better prepared to connect to such an alien landscape. If obstacles occurred, I was sure I could improvise if the need arose.

During this winter, I had read about the evolving super bloom. I researched the best sites and how to capture them. But as is so common now, the weather acted out of the ordinary. A heat dome settled with record temperatures during March. Within a few days, the super bloom was officially over.  I was one week away from my trip there. Would I still go? Perhaps this was not the right time anymore. But I had discovered in the intervening time how nature gives us what we need when in its midst.

Upon arriving in the basin, I found many places charred by the heat. I also found flowers and blooming cacti at higher elevations like desert rock nettle, apricot globe mallow, or cottontop cactus. Sunrise and sunset revealed themselves slowly in quiet and connection. By the end of my week, I did not want to leave. 

Back east, Thoreau had found his peace at Walden Pond. Now I had discovered a similar place  in the west in the midst of heat, rock and cactus. I was reconnected again in nature; I had found a wildness which could offer me the preservation of the world.