My grandma used to say the only poet she kept by her bedside table was Emily Dickinson. Sadly for me at the time, I had not really “met” Emily Dickinson, and assumed grandma liked her quaint old fashioned rhymes. Now I realize I missed out on an opportunity to dive deep with my grandma and discuss life’s darkness, loss, mystery and joy. As an adult, at least, I have the gift of a shared experience with my mother’s mother, though she is no longer here to explore those depths with. Here is one of my Dickinson favorites, shared alongside a moment I captured in Sedona, Arizona – a place my grandma also discovered long before I came to love it.