Follow me south from the north bench of Salt Lake City — east, snow on Cottonwood mountains; south, Lake Bonneville terraces; west, Lambourne’s Inland Sea with its birds and miraculous, salty water. Inside the State Capitol, Brigham Young strides motionless, statue on a pedestal. Outside, four marble lions virtuously guard bronze doors. City Creek spills through green canyon, disappears, resurrects as three fountains sparkling among towering buildings. Across the street, Brigham Young, 1893, welcomes all to Temple Square, minus a golden Moroni and his trumpet. South six blocks, motels, hotels and gourmet grills shadow one old neighborhood street where bold white lilacs I smelled eighty years ago still power through bent chain link — asphalt tonguing their armored stems, fragrance muscling air, seducing a praise of bees.