Blue haze slowly metamorphoses hills into rosy giants above gray sands. Light becomes alive, enlarges into a faint aura, disarming the ominous mountain range across the valley.
The animal within awakens to the pale glow; the eye, afraid to miss the wonder that engulfs, searches toward the East, as if life itself emanated from that point in primal dawn; still so near, yet impalpable, swelling into reality in the breast of the beholder.
The great phalanges of a headless sphinx evolve out of the morn, foreboding on the bare flanks of a hillside. Shapes move faster than mind, colors define and redefine a continuous dance of vanishing nocturnal demons.
Joshua, arms reaching up above man and ass, darkly praising aurora-multiforma, the sky now a perfect cupola of opaque grays. The path, a winding animal, creeping narrowly to infinite hardness in the arid peaks afar.
I watch from the shadow of what was night impenetrable a fraction of time ago, and seek the spirit of those who once, like myself, hunted in these desertic hills. I find awe in pantheistic respect for continuum, here on this ground, between the Ute and the deer consciousness; perpetually in perennial precarity.
I, proud ignorant, am but a frying pan away from silent nets at tribal hunts. We, are but a gun away from those who survived; our knowledge, once removed from understanding.
I, breathe reverence at dawn, I smell fear at breakfast; ever concerned, ever aware: the masculine spirit of the hunter pervades volcanic rock, femina dries up among cacti, to feed but the toughest of animals, in the hardest of climes.
Here I begin anew, with yet another dawn over the pale gray sage.

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