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One of them days. Gloomy. Rain spit'n. Fog. Bone-slice'n cold.
Only benefactor of such days, be rocks.

Be a peachy-keno hovel huddle day. Make me a new haversack and oil the old walk'n sticks. Do some remember'n. Maybe a doobie a'fore hit'n the ol' rack come deep night.

Weather always be desert goofy. Tis always been said, "If'n ya don't like desert weather, wait twenty minutes." Now, that be a fact. Best keep one peeper look'n up.

Met a passle'a city folk prowl'n the desert this year. Didn't come across any of 'em dead early Winter, so figger'd they gots back to the city in one piece.

Desert ain't a kind and gentle place. It be hard beauty. Beauty that can spit in your eye.

T'was late evening in July, when I came across a man with a big telescope, aimed at the sky.

"See any of those little green fly'n saucer men?" I smiled.

"Actually," exclaimed the man, "I am a student at the University. I study astronomy. There really isn't such thing as UFOs or little green men."

I gives the guy a closer look. His head be round like a melon. Eyes so far apart, his nose probably gets lonely. But, he seemd affable.

"You see to the end of the sky with that thing?" I asked.

"Oh, no," he replied. "This scope is for looking at the planets. I have some photos of different telescopes that see almost to the beginning of the universe. Would you like to see a few?"

"A sure," I chuckled.

I's look'd and they were certainly beautiful. So was the pictures they took. I hand'd 'em back.

"Well, shake my tail and call me shivers," I said. "Sure be some pretty things up there, beyond the eye."

Student got all excited and told me science has greatly advanced. Soon we would be able to see all the way back to the begin'n time.

"Maybe," I said, as I was heft'n myself up to gets mov'n along.

"Scientific fact, ma'm," he chuckled.

"If'n you can see that far, you might be a tad careful."

"Ma'm," he said with a bit o'confusion in his voice, "why careful?"

"Don't think you star lookers be prepared if somethin' looks back. Give it a think."

Always too busy on the search'n for knowledge and alway's get'n blindsided by find'n it.

Craparoni, where be my awl? Just had the dang thing...

Be late Spring, I'm a think'n. Shared a night fire with a young'n wrapped in haunt'n thoughts. I've mulled that encounter many times dur'n deep night, when sleep be play'n  hide and seek.

"We are being culled." That be what she said.

Was look'n into her eyes when she said it so low, that it creeped my spirit, refus'n to let'n go. Still ain't, either.

I a'reckon some would say she be queer'd in the noodle. I don't. Fulcrum point a'society be jam'd. That be plain and simple. Lotsa room on one side. Little room on t'other. Those with lots of room not be share'n with those bunched up on t'other side.

"We are being culled," she said. Burrrrr...

Think'n I go to better thoughts and add wood to the fire...wrong kinda chill be com'n on. Don't cotton to spirit chills.

Few weeks back, Mylos came run'n to fetch me. Squeeky voice a'his at full throtle. Good boy, Mylos. Wears droopy pants. Always a'fear'n he'll trip, break'n his snooter. Chunk'a brick inside a his nogg'n, I a'reckon. Suspenders what he be need'n. No tell'n Mylos. Nope.

"She of Two Spirits! You gots to come down to Sally's Saloon, right now! Carlos done got a Chewa Coblera! It be lay'n dead on the snooker table! Everybody is there! Come! Come quick!"

T'wernt no chupacabra goat-sucker a'tall. Petrified armadillo. An old one to be sure. How it gots this far from Texas, I dunno. But, ol' Sally's was a'buz'n that night!

Buz'n? Time to put one on and skitter to bed. Hope'n to sleep...

"We be'n culled."

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