The three ambled slowly along the hard scrabble trail, rocky
white clumps that crumble underfoot and disintegrate into grainy sand; a landscape peppered with knots of spiny
sagebrush. Looking at the trio you feel desolation;
a desperate loneliness;drifting as if looking for something or someplace but
you don’t know what or where. They
headed for the ridge that would soon swallow them up taking them to..
 |
| A family group of mustangs stops at a water hole |
