In The University of New Mexico's Zimmerman Library, I was reading a book on the Anasazi, the Ancient Ones who populated Chaco Canyon and disappeared sometime during the 13th Century, many anthropologists believe because of a long drought.

A young woman appeared, a braid of black gleaming hair swinging behind her like a rope. Her brown feet were bare, and I asked her why. "I sweat a lot," she replied. "In winter?" "I always sweat."

When she walked away, her moist feet traced a river tumbling south through the canyons of the Colorado Basin.

There was a muddy centre before we breathed,
There was a myth before the myth began,
Venerable and articulate and complete.


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