The living storm passed over the Colorado Plateau today, raking the sandstone canyons with rain and snow virgas, and the sun set among steel gray clouds, painting the faintest wispy shreds a bright orange.  What more could anyone want, except that gross pile of tomorrow’s garbage we’re told to want?  Every cell in me loves this harsh land.  Who am I if I don’t rise up and defend it from the fools and thieves that seek to gut it for a few more moments of illusory wealth?

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