Wednesday, November 04, 2015


Outside rock crushers pulverize unearthed table size rocks. The noise pretends quiet, but insists on entering-- unbidden. Then it ceases as noise and melds into the other sounds-- a crane moving backwards, and the hum of a draconian looking machine climbing a hill of crushed rock.

I long for the ocean, for the wind on the top of a mountain, for the sound of my breath when hiking, for the quiet of the kiva at Chaco Canyon.


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