I was sitting on the patio outside the lodge restaurant writing and periodically looking out over the Basin, thru the Window and into the desert in the west.
The morning sun was behind Casa Grande, and the shadow of the Chisos lay on the desert floor. As I wrote, it receded, and sunlight crept down the sides of the mountains on either side of the Window. The Basin would soon be warm, but sitting there in the morning shadow, my fingers were cold.
A Canyon Wren flitted in the bushes. Maxican Jays flew about. Once in a while, the wind would kick up, reminding me of my fingers, reminding me that it was time to go back to the hotel room and make the eggs.
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