When a valley is named in such a manner it’s like flies to shit for us. The open expansiveness somehow seem to claustrophobe and manipulate our ways. The car, though smothered in dust, became such a cozy safety nest. “The tree of trust” as 13 came to call it. The crows laughed at us, the heat poked fun, and the never ending nights watched us stumble around underneath more stars than I’ve ever thought about. This fucking three demential fractal showing us her ways, as the devil tries to make us call it the sky, leave it at that, and put our infinite connectedness into a tiny, manageable concept. “Sky.”

The home-bro and I, WXW as we call it, shot nights, and drove days and made it out the other side, no Death, a lot of valley, and entirely epic shit, dusty dudes, and another metal bird to fly home on, smiling, in quiet reflection.