East of Flagstaff AZ, we looped through a landscape of steep mesas, sculptured buttes, crystals of white quartz and blue manganese, red and brown iron oxide laid down at a time the modern mind may only imagine.

Standing on a precipice, I saw a nude figure running toward Marathon, shadowed by a lung-gom-pa loping over a jagged desert floor. Then I remembered if we knew exactly the laws of nature and the situation of the universe at the initial moment, we could predict exactly the situation when Mangas Colorados sent
a courier, who jogged day and night, stopping only to scoop water, and bleed his swollen calves into the thirsty land.

Picked my way across the alluvium of an ancient river-bed, entered a cosmography older than the gods. Snapped a few pictures, trekked back to the car.