Driving across Navajoland in New Mexico, Arizona, and Utah over the years, I’ve been lucky enough to stand at places like Tsé Bitʼaʼí or Shiprock, in English. Even before I learned the stories tied to it, I could feel the history under my feet. On my last visit I had maybe ten minutes to soak in the land before we had to move on. I was on assignment, documenting the reconstruction of Navajoland’s water treatment plants, and running late to the next site. It's told that there was once a great dark bird, so large its wings could shade entire valleys. When the Holy People taught the Diné how to live in harmony with the land and the earth, the bird began to decay, eventually crashing into Shiprock. The formation has carried cultural and historical significance to the Navajo ever since. Some days the monsters we face feel like that bird. Heavy, overwhelming, blocking out the light. But step by step, sunrise by sunrise, you start to see that they only hold power when you keep feeding them. I feel humbled every time I hear stories about people living in deep connection with the land. It reminds me that we should all strive to return to it, to listen, and to learn.