The Quiet Places The arid landscape has a beauty all its own. With intricately carved, rust-colored plateaus supporting precariously perched house-sized boulders, the scene looked like something out of a grand western. At any moment, I expected the skyline to fill with mounted Indians glaring down at me. While imaginary enemies posed no threat; bruised skies where preparing to wage war. Outside of the occasional decayed wooden corral, traces of civilization were nowhere to be found. My only company: a fleet-footed roadrunner and circling hawk. But the quiet places never fail to impress. Less man equals more god.