Recent rains have greened the valley floor. We cross miles of slow curves before we spot in an approaching hillside, spherical gauges the color of dried blood: blunt features in an otherwise blur of sameness that distinguish the canyon entrance. Inside Rosebud Canyon walls grow around us, gradual in slope. Flaxen grasses ruffle the road’s edge. This place has a soft yieldingness, despite jagged outcroppings in split-apart mountains strewn with shadowy shards.
We begin to look intently for signs of wild horses. Continue reading