Lines so pure and handprints slapped. Chiseled features, by hands sure, atheistic, artistic, inscriptions rapt. We hike into and then out of canyons cluttered, middens of yore. Pausing, we languish, relish songs of Mourning Dove, canyon bend, more ancestral work by those who trod before. Adobe fingerprints arching alcoves.
Broken shards glint in ancient treasure troves.
Scurrying reptiles and lizards leaping. Broken matates in piles, near granaries, for corn keeping. Four friends packing reflections reticulated. Clear water not lacking, we won't end up desiccated. Ravens spiral, floating buzzard hawk too.