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Not a place for homeless hikers, this vast expanse of arid land. Here the sun takes no prisoners, blasts their faces until their skin glows scarlet. Dries the land until it shrieks then every thing that's green withers and dies. Collapses into gnarled lumps or desiccated sand that adds its bulk to the scalding wind. Two men with a shopping cart maybe a K-Mart model or Safeway's, Any identification worn by time and constant pushing. These two, have escaped the concrete streets and alleys of Albuquerque. Escaped those terrors of the mind old war wounds opened with the chop, chop of a helicopter or a distant sirens whine. But to what do they escape. The arroyos and gullies here are not kind to man. Desert peace is not peace of mind. No car will offer succour to these tattered beings with a shopping cart. Here, even the coyote scrabbles for some morsel that will make a meal. scrounging around the ruins of abandoned homes he exposes one dusty scrawny mouse. Only the cholla cactus can be found growing abundantly adorned with magenta blossoms it repudiates the legend of the barren desert. Raises its contorted arms to old sol welcoming the molten warmth rained on it day, after day, after day. |