In wonder of the red and white earths from which jump up buffalo grasses under blue winded engulfed skies stretched by the wings of morning doves and hurricanes in flight, I remember the green glow of anole and the heavy iron doors to the oil and iron floors glittered with the spiral shine of cobalt threads and varsol sheens that were imagined by me to be the maps of the sounds of the songs of fishes and bats.
