I started the blog with a poem, so it seems fitting to end it with one of the poems written on the trip: Of Rivers and Volcanos Purgatoire, Colorado, Virgin, American, the rivers of our travels slice through the earth revealing the stony sweep of time, layers of compression, erosion, uplift, and stretch, a landscape of anger, grieving, forgiveness, love. The rocky tale traces inland seas, echoes tectonic plates colliding or drifting apart in basalt, pumice, schist, granite, sandstone, limestone, shale. I want to leave no stone unturned on the trail of my own geology, in flux, changing daily as we hike down canyon, up cinder cone, over slippery stones in a cool river, whose shady ledges are fringed with wildflowers. Two of us, often seeking the fault line, making mountains out of molehills, travel literally
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