My return to Phoenix, Arizona, is proving difficult. Wanderlust and overfamiliarity with the city push against my creativity of finding images that show Phoenix in a dynamic light. There are no ethnic neighborhoods – although there are areas that are predominantly Hispanic, they are also incredibly poor. The few places where ethnic stores pop up are surrounded by chain stores in the same strip mall layout that defines the streets of Phoenix, Mesa, Peoria, Glendale, Scottsdale, Tempe, and now Gilbert, Surprise, Avondale, Goodyear, and whichever other glom-on-towns that have joined the super-metropolis. Miles and miles of roads laid out grid-style slice across an area larger than Los Angeles. Nearly every major intersection is another boring collection of a fast-food restaurant, drug store, dry cleaner, fingernail shop, video rental service, mailbox shop, a dentist, and a coffee shop punctuating block after block of cookie-cutter cloned homes. Of course, there is golf for those so inclined and sure enough, there are plenty of visitors who show up for that and a couple of malls bring in tourists and residents alike – yawn. Our lonely art museum tries but barely makes the cut, while the Heard Museum for Native American history is definitely a shining star, as is the Desert Botanical Garden. At our zoo, animals wilt in the summer bake-off. It is as though the searing heat of the desert sterilizes the minds and imaginations of the inhabitants of this forbidding land. If you ask, so why do I live here? Because when I venture outside of Phoenix I have an even greater appreciation for the beauty of the rest of the world.