Sunday Stanza: Where Art Meets the Land

Just south of Salt Lake, a stone’s gentle throw,
Past orchards and valleys where spring breezes blow,
Nestled up tight ‘neath the Wasatch’s rise,
Sits a town brushed with color and framed by blue skies.

They call it “Art City”—a fitting old name,
Where murals and galleries shimmer with fame.
But art here’s not trapped behind velvet and glass—
It’s felt in the sunsets and smelled in the grass.

The foothills lean near like an old friend’s embrace.
Trails like Hobblecreek Canyon will quicken your pace.
Climb up its ridges where bold eagles fly,
And taste heaven’s hush ‘neath a high-alpine sky.

Fifth Water awaits with a sulfur-kissed breeze,
Where warm pools steam softly among mossy trees.
Through Diamond Fork Canyon the turquoise streams glide,
With waterfalls spilling where still dreams reside.

Just west lies Utah Lake’s shimmering span—
A fisherman’s morning, a sunbather’s tan.
Take out a kayak and paddle the bay,
Or just let the breeze steal your burdens away.

The museum holds stories from far and from near,
Native Americans, cowboys, and visions sincere.
Utah’s own brushstrokes hang proud on the wall—
A mirror of people, both the humble and tall.

When twilight creeps in with its lavender hue,
And headlights dance soft on the roads winding through,
You’ll smell something savory, hear laughter and song—
At Strap Tank they’re pouring, and you might stay too long.

Main Street meanders like pages well worn,
With galleries, diners, and boots slightly torn.
If on a Wednesday you’re down this way,
Don’t miss Magleby’s all-you-can-eat buffet.

La Casita—over forty years on Main has stood,
Built on beans, tacos, and brotherhood.
With calloused hands and a dear friend’s grace,
The Muzquiz name still warms the place.

So, if you’re just passing or seeking to roam,
There’s more than a postcard to take back home.
For here, in this valley where art meets the land,
Is a place built by heart, by soul, and by hand.

DocBott