I drove directly south for a few hours, still enveloped by early morning darkness. I wanted to get there at sunrise. As soon as I hit Walsenburg, I turned west and drove into the mountains, weaving around 14,000-foot mountain peaks that still clung t snow, even int he depths of summer. And, as I rounded the corner of Blanca Peak, I saw it: the sand dunes.

Great Sand Dunes National Park sits in a bowl of snow-capped mountains and moderately dense forests. I seasonal river separates the forest from the spontaneous desert in the Rockies. An alien landscape in a foreboding location.

The dunes rise like waves, always changing with constant winds and rare rains.

The early morning sunrise created intense shadows on the dunes, making them look even more dramatic. I pulled in, set up my tent, and tied my boots. And then, I started hiking.

My feet sunk into the sand with every step, making the walk across the flat section difficult. The first incline tested my endurance that early in the morning. One step at a time, as the cliche went. I weaved my way up the massive sand dune, following my own path (designated trails are hard to mark in ever-changing sands). And, eventually, I got to the top.

Looking out over the dunes, I saw a vast expanse of barren land, uninhabitable and desolate.

At least at first glance.

As I looked closer, I saw small signs of life. Little flowers and small plants that clung to any water and foundation they could find.

When the sun went down, the stars came out. With no moon, the skies around the Great Sand Dunes lived up to their reputation as one of the United States's only places without light polution. I could see the entriety of space.

And I could see beauty in nothingness.