it’s all relative

At night in this vision, my flesh would shiver as the temperature sank. The light would vanish from the sky and snakes would slither across the stones and nighthawks squeak by as they dined on insects. At first light, the coyotes would give the dawn song, always a frail thing in the part of the desert, and I would brew coffee and watch color bleed back into the land.

– Charles Bowden Blue Desert

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