03.26.07
The Mainmast
Paul and I hurdled over the tumbleweed and sage, passing the sedentary Joshua trees, which seemed like so many oblivious adults. Jackrabbits, cracked earth, ruins, and garbage. The tumblejunk bounced over the sage like so many rabbits, sometimes stopping to mingle, or dashing off at a moment’s notice to join a tumbleweed stampede. The ruins of abandoned dwellings sometimes joined in the migration, but often tarried in the past with its ghosts.
Everything was haunted. Nothing ever died; it was simply repossessed. Paul was missing.
I began to backtrack and wheel around In turns. Finally, I noticed him in the distance, standing before something that resembled a crucifix in the obscure distance. Then I looked again and recognized it: the mainmast of the old Mission. I walked up past Paul, and held my hand against it. Then I looked down at the hexagonal hardpan under my feet, and scraped the sandy skin off with my shoes. I looked over my shoulder at Paul.
