On the northwest corner of our desert ranch where dust
devils dance and yucca bells chime, a crumbling adobe hut bakes like
a muffin in the searing Arizona sun. Its mud-brick walls are split and
scarred by time. Chunks of mortar and shards of purple glass skirt the
old foundation, and the weather-beaten door sags like a broken jaw until
the wind coaxes its rusted hinges to creak and groan in dismal harmony
with tattered wires and a dented stovepipe that clack like castanets
across the corrugated metal roof.
Who could ever live here? I wondered. And then, I found
out.
-Penny Porter
The book is available directly from
the author.
For more information, or to order copies
of the book, please contact the author at ghostriverimages.com