Scattered along the length of this valley are bleached cow bones with no life force left. They mark a story of the river, a river needing care for its dance and healthy movements, a care that our lives need as well. The simple acts of kindness and relatedness that create the body of a community. We are the rivers and the river is in us. It is always through this clear reflection of relatedness that we discover the beauty that we need to survive together.

There are no grand schemes here. The lives that are led in Gila are simple; one man sells cedar poles that he has cut and split, another woman bags her sprouts grown in her make shift conservatory, while another neighbor makes honey for sweat mead and beer. Tonight, as I take in the lives of those around me the desert smells like rain.