Pink sand drifts over a dirt two track road that leads to the end of the Earth. It continues on, past sagebrush and over cattle guard with complacent cows that gather by a bin of water, bumping along the rim of the canyon cluttered with rocks that once fell during a rain. It disappears over the slickrock. My friend is singing to the clever raven flying—her voice drifting into the silence filled only with the dry breeze. I follow her, squeezing the bitter juice from a blade of Mormon tea with my teeth. Will she drift on without me like the wispy clouds? We walk past an old cedar tree. As we descend, the silence of the evening sun thrums through the canyon. Pause with me in the river before we're swept away and resume our rushing.
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