Arizona Highways




My father stopped the car overlooking a hand painted wood sign declaring our future. LAND FOR SALE / 50 ACRES. I stepped on a cactus. I was eight years old, maybe nine.

On Easter we would drive from Denver to Phoenix. I remember my mother sitting in the front seat covered by the sun, making whimsical remarks concerning the changing colors of the landscape. My father would daydream. I sat in the back, pulling cactus needles from my foot.