the fourth, the fifth

It's difficult for me to acknowledge that the most moving and introspective experience I had on my recent trip to southern Utah took place in a pet cemetery. I'm not even into animals that are owned by people who aren't scientists. Most especially the three types most prominently represented at Angels Rest. Angels Rest, no apostrophe. Which makes the second word a verb, not a noun, which makes the name entirely more interesting. Most likely it was also entirely unintentional, but I'll forgive them their oversight since it works so well for their purposes. Obviously the beauty of the moment had nothing to do with being surrounded by graves and ashes of dogs and cats and birds, and everything to do with being in a place with the sun shining on me and vibrant colors as far as I could see and desert plants somehow thriving and the perfect amount of wind simultaneously causing the perfect amount of quiet and noise. And most of all, this glorious and awesome (and by that I do mean awe-some, old school definition) music resonating to me and through me from every direction, creating harmonies so lovely it was painful, gah, I had no idea harmonies and tones like that existed. I don't even want to say what the source of the music was because I feel like that would demean it; once I said what it was then everybody would think of their own experiences and think they understood but they wouldn't, it wouldn't suffice, it was more than that. Supposedly Vladimir Lenin said something about Beethoven's Appassionata, that he couldn't listen to it too often because it made him want to say kind things and stroke the heads of his enemies instead of beating them. This was music capable of such feats. I may have lived the most peaceful 30 seconds of my life standing in that cemetery outside Kanab.

I feel like this is a copy of a something I recently read, a too conveniently similar idea as expressed by someone else. It's not a copy, it's a coincidence.