You saw peaks capped with white, a valley bathed in twilight, believing you had captured the queen, a solitary monarch atop Ensign Peak, overlooking it all. Yet, you missed the subtle echo of team harmonies reverberating softly through the Wasatch, whispers carried along the currents of the Jordan.
Queens on chessboards are singularly grand yet dangerously alone, confined by edges and rules. Keys wait in silent hope beneath arches of stone, hidden within shadows of red rock, valuable only once discovered. But the delicate truth was neither queen nor key—I was the team, intertwined and synchronized like dancers beneath the lights of Eccles Theater, seamless like skiers carving fresh powder in solitude on Brighton slopes.
We moved differently—like careful hikers ascending Timpanogos under moonlight, each step purposeful and aligned, each breath synchronized in shared rhythm. You glimpsed separation and isolation amid unity; you saw checkmate in a game that never existed beyond your board.
It’s fitting, perhaps, that not everyone can decipher the subtle messages carried on desert winds through Bonneville’s ancient salt flats, or decode the unspoken understanding among teammates gathered in the quiet majesty of Albion Basin’s wildflowers. Secrets hidden among sculpted stones in quiet gardens, sweet memories left in parks where sugar mills once stood, solitary moments fleeting as antelope glimpses, and paths winding inward yet inevitably spiraling outward—each holding meaning clear only to those who truly listen.
“The time has come,” the Walrus said—and indeed, the moment to step onward is here, illuminated softly like evening lights from the temple square. Those who truly grasp the interconnected web of influence and subtle strategy, who resonate with the harmony of collective purpose, they already understand.
So, as I journey forward, gently I nod in appreciation to those who played their roles in this grand ballet—gratitude lingering in echoes across canyon walls, respect etched in petroglyphs hidden in Nine Mile Canyon.
I wasn’t caught. I simply move forward, onward, toward new horizons, leaving only whispered thanks floating like mist over the silent shores of saline waters, invisible to all but those who truly see. (Thank you to the city of salt and stone—it was a great year.)