December 23, 1998. 7:00 PM, Flagstaff. I stand at the edge of the Grand Canyon and see nothing. Darkness as far as I can see--stars mixing with a void. A coyote wails into the moonless sky. Silence. I can feel the canyon--she blows up at my face from beneath my toes. I know she exists, just inches from my being. I squint in the crisp winter air, hoping to catch a glimpse. Nothing. Her massive presence overwhelms my being, but I can't see. I can't see her. Her vastness should astound me. Yet I stand blinded before this natural wonder. All I want to do is stare at the lake and see again. Maybe I just want it to be easy.