Pablita falls back, distracted, pulls at her rusty bridle. I spur her sides, need to hear his story. As I move closer, she shifts her body, tries to kick Miguel s horse. We dismount, hike to the waterfall. Sheets of liquid tumble onto a granite bed.
Sand winks back sun glints of fool s gold.
I listen to words churning beneath a stone, fill a backpack with aluminum cans, pluck a seed pod from a pepiniyo salvaje, collect jagged pebbles. He tells me about the zalate. Its spindly root tendrils grow out of rock walls. Tells of his travels to Canada to study the environment. He wants to teach some day.