Riding

Curves of empty highway wend through the silk of dusk. We pass an antelope grazing on the right, and I think of the elk we saw earlier. With the next curve, the silver of water lays across the basin below us the way ribbons blow across a woman's hair. The Rockies, the San Juans, the Sangre de Cristos--peak follows peak on every side. We are wrapped in mountains.

In the front seat, Shivdhun is eating popcorn. He bought a 24" bag where a tall, skinny cowboy blasts his pistol at the zigzag opening of the paper. Just inside the cowboy's lasso, the words: "Texas-sized popcorn." Barbara asks Shivdhun, "Is your arm long enough to make it to the bottom of that bag?"

We passed the Dinky Dairy just a few miles back.

In a few hours, we'll be in Crestone.