The sandstone formations extend from the desert floor. Joshua trees stand like a long past conquered army. Scrub Oak, Manzanita, Yuccas blooming, Junipers with their bitter, tart berries. Do all kids smell, touch and taste all that is within the confines of their playground? The sound of cicadas flying, the rattle of joshua tree gourds dried by the hot desert wind.

I need to feel the sand and stone under foot, sweat stinging my eyes, the warmth of the sun on my back. Attack the invading force with spears of yucca stocks, once again.

Years later on the way to visit Mike in Colorado I backpacked for a week in Bandelier National Monument in New Mexico. One evening at dusk I came up out of the valley to the top of a mesa. There were Pueblo pottery shards *everywhere* and the saguaro cactus seemed to me like... like a long past conquered army.

Standing there in awe and goosebumps, the weight of centuries underneath my feet and feeling like a tresspasser. It pisses me off indescribably that I cannot tell him about it. Did we sneak through the same rip in the world? I pound my desk in rage and loss. Whoa, I guess the angry young man is still in there somewhere. Maybe he can wake up the seeker who’s gone so soft.