In Glen Canyon, white clouds fly by, the sky radiates electric blue, yet this towering monolith of fiery sandstone stays perfectly still. And watches. That’s what it’s done for thousands of years. As fly fishermen come and go, casting their arcs through dry Arizona air, as the water levels of Lake Powell rise and fall, as rafters dock their boats for a picnic and leave again. It watches. Waits. Steady as a rock.