#La jara Colorado

[williamrablan]

Writing Prompts

Writing your life out for a future generation can be a voyage of discovery.

Father’s Day happened just a few days ago. The majority of my children came over. We went for breakfast, then adjorned to the house for dessert and gifts. I have to admit that the gifts are often times unexpected, and that was true this year. One of the gifts I received was a journal called “Grandpa’s Story.” My daughter explained it was actually going to be for my granddaughter and will be…

[aryburn-trains]

D&RGW train (Narrow Gauge), engine number 473, engine type 2-8-2 Train #115, San Juan; 10 cars, 35 MPH. Photographed: south of La Jara, Colo., July 5, 1937.

[hakesbros]

Northwest Albuquerque, Albuquerque, Nm Actual Estate & Homes For Sale

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[kifujin4ever-love]

La Confesión

Xicheng Doujin/Comic/UA/Fanficción.

*Mi contribución al #Xicheng 💙💜y #WangXian💙❤

Antes que nada felices fiestas a todo éste bello fandom, que todos tengan prosperidad en el nuevo año que comienza, apapachos y mucho amor. Aquí les comparto mi Doujin de Mo Dao Zu Shi que debido a la carga laboral no había tenido tiempo de sentarme en calma para terminarlo. El Dj es una historia alternativa y aquí la pareja estrella es Xicheng 💙💜pero también (obviamente) salen nuestros nenes Lan Zhan💙 y Wei Ying ❤.

"La Confesión"

Hace 300 años un demonio legendario come almas había sido atrapado en un bosque lejano gracias a las artes mágicas de varios cultivadores, sin embargo dicho demonio había sido liberado accidentalmente por los curiosos pueblerinos que ahora habitaban cerca al bosque. Desde su despertar, el deminio había atacado a toda forma de vida que habitaba en el bosque y en el pueblo causado terror desmesurado. La noticia de los ataques había llegado a oídos de los grandes maestros cultivadores de los clanes más poderosos quienes decidieron hacer algo al respecto.

Lan Xichen, Lan Zhan de Clan Lan y Jiang Cheng y Wei Ying del Clan Jiang decidieron tomar iniciativa partiendo los 4 al pueblo para hacer las averiguaciones previas y atender el problema. Lan Zhan y Wei Ying quienes ahora eran esposos, decidieron entrevistar a los pobladores del pueblo, mientrás que Lan Xichen y Jiang Cheg decidieron revisar los alrededores guardando toda precausión para evitar cualquier disturbio.

Durante la inspección ambos cultivadores quienes ahora y gracias a la unión de sus familias por el matrimonio de sus hermanos eran amigos cercanos, se vieron atacados sorpresivamente por el demonio come almas; durante la batalla, Jiang Cheng sale herido de gravedad al intentar esquivar un ataque dirigido hacia Lan Xichen, al final y afortunadamente, ambos logran destruir al demonio pero a un costo elevado.

Lejos de ahí en el pueblo Wei Ying siente fluctuar la energía espiritual de su hermano presintiendo que algo grave ha pasado y junto con su esposo, parten rumbo al bosque. Mientrás tanto, en el bosque, Jiang Cheng esta gravemente herido y conociendo su destino le pide a Lan Xichen que no pierda tiempo en intentar sanarlo y que abandone el lugar evitando así cualquier peligro posterior, pero el primer maestro Lan se niega rotundamente. Al ver el joven maestro Jiang la actitud y sintiendo la muerte cerca, abre su corazón confensando su amor a Lan Xichen para después caer inconsciente en sus brazos.

Pasadas las horas, Lan Zhan y Wei Ying se reencuentran con un afligido Lan Xichen quien sostiene en brazos a Jiang Cheng.

Por cercanía y por contar con técnicas efectivas de sanaciòn, el Lider del Clan Jiang es llevado a Gusu, siendo El Receso de Las Nubes su sitio de sanación y descanso durante algunos meses.

Durante la estancia de su hermano en Gusu, Wei Ying llegó a notar la cercanía que Lan Xichen tenía hacía su hermano llegando a recordar en un momento el como A-Cheng alguna vez comentó que "el Lider del Clan Lan era demasiado perfecto y casi irreal para ser verdad".

Con el tiempo la salud de Jiang Cheng fue en mejora trayendo calma y gozo. Wei Ying observaba como el trato entre su hermano y cuñado se hacía cada vez más cercano dádose cuenta de que su hermano estaba enamorado del mayor de los Lan(y visceversa) decidido, se comprometió "ayudar" en el proceso.

Lan Zhan no podía dar crédito a lo que su esposo había notado y sin más remedio decidió apoyar todo con la finalidad de ver a su hermano mayor feliz. Luego de un mes, Jiang Cheng estaba totalmente mejorado y listo para volver al Muelle de Loto pero el día de su partida durante su despedida, Lan Xichen le detiene para confesarle que así como éste, él también estaba enamorado. Al final ambos se besan sellando su amor.

Tres años despuès, una nueva celebración se lleva a cabo entre el Clan Lan y el Clan Jiang pero ésta vez para celebrar la unión matrimonial entre ambos líderes de clan.

Y colorín colorado, ésta historia se ha acabado. Como no puse diálogo en el Dj les puse en breve el texto ☝🏻🥰

Fin

Gracias amores❤💖🥰💋

#MoDaoZuShi

#TheUntamed

#LanZhanAndWeiYing

#LanXichenAndJiangCheng

#WangXiang

#Xicheng

Ligia Pach Jara

[growingrootsinco]

Colorado Visits

I made a bucket list for the county once to help me get to know the area but truth be told I see more of it on maps than I do in person because of my job. most of what I have already seen has been due to working with the Amish and Geocashing. I got back into it because this state is so fucking beautiful. 

So.... Heres everywhere I have been in Colorado so far. 

Entire County I reside in- about 65% of it.

The Sand Dunes- Theres only 1. Loved it!

Hot Springs- Just 1 for the moment but go all the time

Ski Resorts- Wolf Creek

Mountain Passes- La Manga, Cumbres, La Veta, Blowout, Wolf Creek, Cucharas, Poncha

Concert Venues- Black Sheep, The Roxy, Fiddlers Green

Haunted Places- Trying to hit as many as possible.

Historical Sites- trying to hit as many as possible.

National Forests- Rio Grande, San Juan, Pike, San Isabel, Great Sand Dunes,

The Continental Divide- have seen it from areas no one else has

Waterfalls- Treasure Falls, Zapata Falls, ( Now I have to go look up the names of the rest)

Towns/Cities- La Jara, Sanford, Manassa, Romeo, Antonito, Alamosa, San Luis, Conejos, Fort Garland, Walsenburg, Bountiful, La Sauces, Platoro, Jasper, Monte Vista, Del Norte, South Fork, Creede, Trinidad, Colorado Springs, Denver, Salida, Pagosa Springs, Capulin, Durango, Colorado City, Pueblo, La Junta, Lamar, Castle Rock, Monument, Crestone, Hooper, Moffat, Villa Grove, Poncha Springs, Summitville, Canon City, Rye, San Isabel, ( I know I missed a bunch)

Hiking Trails- Now I have to go look all of them up too.

Tourist spots- Sand Dunes, Observatory, Last Chance Mine, Treasure Falls, Platoro, UFO Tower, Crestone , Bishops Castle

Didn’t realize how much effort I was going to have to put into this just to start it. lol      Still not done. Have I really been all these places????

[superwakeandbakealamosa]

Hemp farming in La Jara Colorado with a hydroponics style germination. Happy Easter.

[vermotivaciones]

#Garrapatas: segundo parásito que transmite mayor cantidad de #Enfermedades a los humanos Las garrapatas, son parásitos que afectan a varias especies de animales y a humanos. Transmiten varios tipos de enfermedades que se previenen con limpieza de los espacios y cuidando la salud de los animales. Las garrapatas están presentes en todo el mundo, parasitan diferentes especies de mamíferos incluido el hombre, además de aves y reptiles. Son artrópodos hematófagos y después de los mosquitos se los considera el segundo grupo de vectores de importancia en la transmisión de enfermedades infecciosas a los humanos, y el más importante en la transmisión de infecciones a los animales ¿Qué enfermedades pueden transmitir al ser humano? Una sola garrapata puede albergar varios tipos de virus o bacterias, y transmitir diversas enfermedades; entre las bacterianas podemos citar a: • Ricketsiosis, • Erlichiosis, • Anaplasmosis, • Borreliosis - enfermedad de LYME, Entre las parasitarias • Babesiosis, Entre las virales • Encefalitis TBE, • Fiebre hemorrágica Crimea-congo, • Fiebre por garrapatas de Colorado, • Enfermedad del bosque de Kyasanur. Aunque no todas se presentan actualmente en nuestra región, en los últimos años se ha propagado la “Rickettsiosis cutáneo ganglionar”, caracterizada por una mancha negra alrededor de la picadura. La enfermedad de LYME (Borreliosis) es muy común en Europa, en nuestro país tuvimos casos confirmados de Erlichiosis. Es importante recalcar que no todas las picaduras de garrapata ni todas las garrapatas transmiten enfermedades. Solo algunas especies pueden hacerlo. Las dos grandes familias de garrapatas capaces de producir enfermedad en el hombre son; • Las Ixodidae o “garrapatas duras”, y • Las Argasidae, “chinchorros” o “garrapatas blandas”. Existe una tercera familia, Nuttalliellidae, pero ésta se encuentra confinada en el sudeste de África y, como tal, no tiene transcendencia en nuestro medio. ¿Dónde se encuentran las garrapatas? Estos parásitos pueden estar en la maleza, en pequeños huecos de las edificaciones o alimentándose de un animal. Suelen adherirse al huésped o también pueden desplazarse por el suelo hasta llegar a ellos. Formas de contagio de enfermedades La forma de contagio es por la picadura de la garrapata. Esta se adhiere a la piel y a través de la saliva contamina con los agentes causales de enfermedades. También pueden producir reacciones de hipersensibilidad en el punto de picadura e incluso reacciones sistémicas de tipo anafiláctico o una disminución de la presión arterial con riesgo para la vida, parálisis entre otros. La parasitación masiva que pueden sufrir algunos animales, puede ser causa de anemia severa por consumo de sangre. ¿Cómo podemos prevenir? La Dra. Lorena Jara, Directora del Centro Nacional Antirrábico, recomienda que en; -En ambientes controlados (domicilios, escuelas, etc.) se deben realizar fumigaciones periódicas con productos específicos para la eliminación de las garrapatas. -Las mascotas deben ser evaluadas por un médico veterinario quien determinará el uso de antiparasitarios y/o repelentes según las condiciones y características del paciente. -En el campo o zonas rurales es conveniente tomar precauciones para evitar la picadura de las garrapatas. En cuanto a vestimenta se recomienda usar pantalones largos, remeras de mangas largas, medias y calzado cerrado, repelente, caminar por el medio del sendero evitando la vegetación circundante. Tras ir al campo es preferible revisar cuidadosamente el cuerpo para detectar la presencia de la garrapata. En general, las garrapatas suelen preferir los lugares calientes y húmedos del cuerpo. ¿Qué hacer si tenemos garrapatas en la casa? De inmediato realizar fumigaciones, si cuentan con mascotas en la casa deben ser llevadas a consulta con el médico veterinario y si alguna persona fue picada por la garrapata debe consultar con su médico familiar. by No te detengas

[polemicaynoticiasarequipa]

#Arequipa GOBERNADOR REGIONAL MANTUVO REUNIÓN CON ALCALDES PARA PRIORIZAR PROYECTOS PARA EVITAR AFECTACIÓN DE LLUVIAS

El gobernador regional, Arq. Elmer Cáceres Llica, mantuvo una importante reunión con los alcaldes provinciales y alcaldes de la ciudad de Arequipa, con quienes se determinó priorizar diversos proyectos para reducir la afectación, especialmente en torrenteras, de las lluvias.

Entre los proyectos destaca la intervención en la construcción de drenajes, muros de contención, estabilidad de taludes, sistema de alerta temprana, así como atención con maquinaria y combustible para intervenir en emergencias.

Junto a las autoridades, Cáceres Llica, señaló que se priorizará expedientes técnicos elaborados por Municipalidad de Tiabaya, como es el sistema de drenaje en Av. Salaverry, que recibe aguas de La Campiña, Quebrada Coscollo. El proyecto demanda S/ 2 millones 800 mil y otro sistema por S/ 3 millones además de un colector por S/ 12 millones.

En tanto, en Miraflores se priorizó la construcción de muro de contención por S/ 8 millones para el drenaje y la canalización de la torrentera de San Lázaro.

En otros distritos también se intervendrá de manera coordinada con las municipalidades para ejecutar proyectos de drenajes en Mariano Melgar, Cerro Colorado, Miraflores, Yura, Jacobo Hunter, Sachaca, entre otros, donde se coordinará con el COER y las comunas distritales.

Jose Luis Ticona Jara, especialista SENAMHI, mencionó que los pronósticos avizoran que se estarán presentando lluvias desde el 8 y 9 de enero, donde se tiene escenarios de lluvias, nieve y también granizada durante los siguientes días.

El próximo aviso meterológico se publicará este 8 de enero, donde se contemplará lluvias con alta probabilidad y nivel naranja en la sierra media y alta de región, lo que podría activar quebradas e incrementar caudales de ríos producto del fenómeno de La Niña.

En el caso de Caylloma, Condesuyos y Castilla se presentarán lluvias que superarán los valores normales, con una probablidad del 42%. En cuanto a la ciudad de Arequipa, el monitoreo de la cuenca media señala que existe mayor probabilidad a partir de sábado y domingo.

[aryburn-trains]

Smoke rises from Denver and Rio Grande Western Railroad narrow gauge locomotive #478 (2-8-2), on the "San Juan" passenger train, stopped at the depot in La Jara (Conejos County), Colorado. September 6, 1946

[janmccomas]

"Untitled” Went exploring to see if I could find any barns. Backroads of San Luis Valley La Jara, Colorado ❤️ I feel so at peace when I have my camera in hand and can capture all the spaces in the world that I come upon. Photography allows you to document the presence of nature but also all the man-made disturbances that humans have left behind. I hope you enjoy. © Jan McComas ALL RIGHTS RESERVED iPhoneography All images and text in this post are my original work. All images are copyrighted. Please check out my official website at http://www.janmccomas.com Please feel free to share! #photography #photographer #photographerslife #travel #travelphotography #magazine #nature #naturephotography #iphone #iphoneography #instagram #instamoment #photooftheday #barns #sanluisvalley #lajara #colorado #coloradophotographygroup (at La Jara, Colorado) https://www.instagram.com/p/CEFdzZJB7S3/?igshid=1fq9jqfm2vtna

[calciseptinefic]

stay (it doesn’t have to hurt)

Gravity Falls || Stanford Pines/Stanley Pines || Part One notes: Written for Summer of Stancest. All my love to Blue, who organized this event, gave me encouragement, and was over-all an amazing human being. ♥ ¶ also available on AO3 warnings: mentions of blood and poverty as a theme

.

The motel television has nine channels and, as he has every day since he arrived in New Mexico, Stan spends his day mindlessly switching back and forth between them. Images shift. Noise fluctuates. It helps him ignore the gnaw of hunger in his belly and the squeeze of anxiety around his lungs. There is no remote. Any time a program becomes unbearable, Stan has to get up and manually change the station.

It does little to ease the restlessness in his stagnant bones.

Eventually—when the heat of the day dissipates into evening, and the setting sun illuminates Stan's room in red—Stan gives up the distraction. He switches the television off and plops back down on the sagging edge of his mattress.

Stares at the matted shag carpet.

Runs a hand over his uncombed, sweat-damp hair.

Sighs softly and—

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

Stan's head jerks up. His heart begins to race.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

Stan can only think of two people who would visit him at this hour. The first is the owner of the motel, a skeletal man with beady eyes and a bald head. The second is Rico, a man from whom Stan unwisely borrowed money.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

In the sinking pit of his stomach, Stan knows it must be Rico. The motel owner already came by that morning, asking after overdue rent and threatening to get the police involved. All Stan had was a wrinkled five dollar bill, which he handed over; the other man sneered at the last of Stan's money and spat tobacco on the concrete near Stan's feet.

"Ain't worth the phone call," he said before he stalked off.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

"Just give me a few more days, Rico!" Stan shouts as he grabs the baseball bat lying next to his bed. He immediately chokes up on the wooden handle, his knuckles white and bloodless. "I'll pay your goons back, I swear!"

Stan has said the same thing for the past three months. He was lucky, last time, to be sent home with nothing more than a pair of black eyes and a five thousand dollar deadline. He knows he won't be shown the same generosity this time around, but if Rico and his lackeys are expecting him to go down without a fight, they are in for a very rude awakening.

A second passes.

Two.

Yet instead of the telltale sound of the door being kicked in, there is the simple, metallic whisper of the mail slot. A single piece of cardstock falls to the floor. It seems innocuous, but Stan has been on the wrong side of business long enough to know that a bullet may follow.

A minute passes.

Two.

With the bat clutched in one hand, Stan gets up and creeps towards the door. He tries to keep his footsteps silent and his breathing even, but his movements seem thunderously loud in the still quiet of the room. Slowly… slowly… slowly he bends, pinches the postcard between his fingers, and—

swiftly and without finesse—

Stan sprints back to the safety of his unmade bed.

When nothing continues to happen, Stan inhales deeply and lets go of the tension in his shoulders. Then he looks at the postcard. The front is a generic picture of a forest, coniferous and verdant, complete with a perfect blue sky and a waterfall. The center of the card is dominated by a bold font that entreats:

VISIT SCENIC GRAVITY FALLS OREGON

Stan raises an eyebrow. He's been to all forty-eight contiguous states, seven Canadian provinces, and every country between Mexico and Columbia, but he's never heard of a place called Gravity Falls. It's probably some small, backwater podunk, he deduces before he flips it over. Who the hell—

PLEASE COME!!!, the postcard reads

- FORD, the postcard is signed.

A storm of emotions travels through Stan at the sight of those three words, hastily written and underscored thrice. Rage is the easiest to recognize because of course Ford contacts him when he's in trouble. It was just like Ford to turn to Stan and expose his vulnerability when the going got tough; Stan could never say no to Ford's big blue eyes—or, in this case, his tremulous scrawl—and Ford knew it. He knew that Stan wouldn't be able to ignore a such a summons. Unconsciously or not, Ford was using the fact of Stan's loyalty to his advantage.

"Fuckin' typical," Stan spits. The postcard strains in his hands and, for a moment, Stan contemplates ripping the damn paper in half.

He doesn't.

Instead, Stan's anger dims, his grip on the postcard loosens, and worry edges in. For such a smart guy, Ford could sometimes be an unbelievable idiot, frequently letting his curiosity overrule his common sense. He was never incompetent nor was he liable to do something he didn't want to, either, so ff he needs help, and is willing to ask Stan after ten years of silence, then he's probably way in over his head.

Goddamn, Stan thinks as he reads the plea again. Ten fuckin' years.

This is sorrow. It is a heavy thing, bone-deep and pervasive, and unlike his other feelings, Stan always carries it with him. Part of it is due to the unexpected turn his life took—Stan never planned on being estranged and homeless—but a majority of it comes from losing the one thing he always thought he'd have.

The other half of him.

His brother.

Ford.

Stan exhales shakily. Rubs the damp off his skin with his callused fingertips. Looks down at the card in his hand for the thousandth time since he picked it up and traces the lines with his eyes.

P-L-E-A-S-E-C-O-M-E-!-!-! -F-O-R-D

The last thing Stan feels that night is resignation.

.

In the morning twilight, when the desert sky is a wash of pale rose and gray, Stan leaves Dead End Flats with a single suitcase full of clothes and a wooden baseball bat. Dust kicks up behind the wheels of the El Diablo, billowing up behind him like clouds. He grits his teeth at the obviousness.

An hour passes.

Stan drives with his heart in his throat. He constantly checks his rearview mirror to see if he's being followed. He is less concerned about skipping his dues on the motel owner and more concerned about Rico and his network of sour-faced lackeys.

Another hours passes.

The sun rises high enough over the horizon to turn everything yellow and brown.

Three hours later, suburbs begin to bloom in the red sand. Houses spread inward, becoming denser and denser until they rise into the city of Albuquerque. Gaudy skyscrapers made of steel and glass glitter like diamonds amid the tired landscape. Stan would be impressed if he hadn't learned to hate cities after spending a long winter dodging cops in Columbus, Ohio.

Albuquerque fades quickly.

The desert looms.

San Ysidro. La Jara. Counselor. Nageezi. Farmington.

As he nears the border between New Mexico and Arizona, Stan keeps an eye out for a medium-sized town with a gas station slash diner. He finds one right out of Shiprock, pulls in, and fills his tank among a slew of vacationing families and grizzled truckers. He brings his enormous, dog-eared road map into the diner with him, and grins when he's seated at a booth instead of the counter.

"A pot of coffee," he tells his waitress, a woman several years his senior. Her dark hair is pulled into a fraying bun and there is a huge ketchup stain along her sleeve. She keeps glancing at the toddler two booths down, a small monster who is smearing mac-n-cheese across the table. "And the number seven, and a cherry pie milkshake."

When Stan gets his double bacon burger, fries, and shake, he devours it. He hasn't eaten in nearly three days and the uncomfortable bloat of fullness is a welcome change to the scratch of emptiness.

"Check?" the waitress asks when she comes to collect his plate.

"More coffee, please," Stan replies, gesturing to the road map opened in front of him. "Need to decide where to go next."

Her returning nod is harried and her eyes remain on the toddler. The unruly child has recently graduated from wiping his food on the table to throwing handfuls on the floor and giggling.

It doesn't take Stan long to map out the next leg of his journey. The quickest route to Oregon is to take U.S. Route 191 through Utah, but in order reach said route, Stan needs to either continue west into Arizona or head north into Colorado. The problem arises from the fact that Stan has outstanding arrest warrants in both states. The Arizona detour is shorter, but the charges—

Two booths down, the waitress tries to tell the toddler's parents to control their son's behavior. The father does not take this well and begins to shout.

That's my cue, Stan thinks.

And as the rest of the diner turns to watch the waitress and the father get into a screaming match about appropriate child care, Stan drains the last of his coffee, rolls up his travel atlas, and walks out the front door without spending a dime.

.

Stan heads west into Arizona and spends fifty uncomfortable minutes on Route 64. He passes Teec Nos Pos then turns north at Red Mesa. By the time he crosses the Utah border, he has seen a grand total of seven other cars.

Bluff. Monticello. Moab. Price.

Utah is made of the same red-brown dirt and pale green scrub that is present in New Mexico, and after twelve hours on the road, Stan isn't paying as much attention to the road as he should be. This is why he panics when a mule deer appears suddenly in front of him; he inhales sharply, slams on the breaks, and knocks his nose hard against the leather steering wheel.

"Shit!" Stan curses loudly, clutching his face. Unhurt, the deer prances off. "Shit—fuck—ow, ow, ow!"

Blood leaks warm onto Stan's hand as he pulls over onto the gravel shoulder and parks. He reaches blindly into the back seat, grabs the first thing that feels like a t-shirt, and waits for the bleeding to stop. It takes several minutes. The numbing flush of adrenaline wears off before Stan pulls the worn cotton away.

"Goddamnit," Stan curses when he sees that he managed to grab his last good button down. Blood blooms vivid across a stretch of pale blue, like the desert sun setting west on the winter horizon, and not all of it was captured. Stan's hand is smeared pink and huge drops fell on his t-shirt, where his belly swells fat beneath the fabric. "God fuckin' damn it."

Stan's only stroke of luck is that his nose is not broken. It's tender, so much so that he hisses as he gingerly taps the bridge, but he knows this from vast experience that the bone is intact.

Once Stan cleans as much of his blood up as he can, he gets out of the car and pulls his shirt over his head. It is colder than he expects. The chill hits him hard and his teeth immediately begin to chatter. It's pathetic for a man who was New Jersey born and bred, but Stan has spent the last four years in the deep south and beyond; even in the middle of winter, it was an easy fifty degrees in New Mexico.

Utah is much colder.

Stan quickly stashes his bloodied shirts in the trunk, then grabs his suitcase out of the backseat. There is nothing warm inside. Stan curses as he grabs his least stained article of clothing, a once white shirt that's gray with age and yellow under the pits. It smells like aged leather and stale sweat. Unpleasant. He pulls it over his head. Ignores the stench. Gets back in the El Diablo and cranks up the heat. Stan shivers. It is only going to get colder the further north he goes and he doesn't have a coat, or gloves, or a hat.

Or money.

He looks up at the picture of Ford he keeps above him. Ford smiles so hard it is nearly a grimace and Stan beams. Stan remembers how Ford felt tucked against his side, warm and pliant, both when the picture was taken and later that night when Ford crept into the bottom bunk.

Stan sighs.

"The things I do for you, Sixer," he mutters, and gets back on the road.

.

Colton. Soldier Summit. Tucker.

Mapleton. Springville.

Provo. Orem. Pleasant Grove.

Salt Lake City.

Stan stops as at every gas station he sees. His tank is running towards low, but he never fuels up. Instead, he scrounges for fallen change: for pennies turned black, for scratched nickels, for thin dimes worn flat, for rare and defaced quarters. He hates the pitying looks he gets when he scavenges and ignores them the best he can, hunched against the deepening cold.

Woods Cross. Bountiful. Centerville.

Another Farmington.

Kaysville. Layton. Clearfield. Roy.

Stan's pockets are full and the El Diablo is empty when he pulls into the parking lot of a darkened thrift store. It's midnight. His eyes itch. He's hungry. He's thirsty. He's cold. He grabs the remaining clothes out of his suitcase and piles them atop his body in an attempt to shield himself from the night. He thinks, This ain't got nothin' on Ohio, and pushes his seat back as far as it will go.

Closes his eyes.

And sleeps fitfully till the morning sun breaks white and weak over the pavement.

.

Stan has been to hundreds of thrift shops in the past ten years and he has never understood how they can all smell the same. Like a pair of old shoes and an abandoned house and musty clothes, faint and all at once, familiarity edged with disquiet.

He hates it.

Walking through the racks, Stan searches for the heaviest coat he can find. The best options are long gone, however, picked out before winter could reach its brutal peak, and Stan ends up with three hangers. The first is a heavy leather bomber with no visible tears and a soft collar; the second is a wool peacoat that falls to his knees; and the third is a red parka lined with synthetic fur.

Stan tries the peacoat on first. It's a size too small, unable to stretch over his shoulders and the thickness of his waist, and the fabric smells like spoiled milk. Stan wrinkles his nose as he takes it off and puts it back on the hanger. The peacoat is a definite no.

Next, Stan tries on the leather jacket. It fits well. Really well. So well that Stan takes a peek at himself in the dingy mirror at the end of the makeshift aisle. He looks big, yes, but in a good way: brawny instead of fat, rugged instead of homeless, nineteen instead of thirty-one. Unfortunately, Stan's vanity cannot give the leather jacket another layer of needed insulation, nor can it lower the price tag that reflects its good condition. So he sighs, takes it off, and ignores the sting of want.

The last coat is Stan's best option. It's heavy, it has a hood, and there aren't any rips or thin patches of fabric. The zipper pulls up smoothly. Indeed, the only detriments are the motor oil stains on the shoulder, sleeve, and hem, but the faint scent of detergent Stan smells means that the parka was obviously washed before being donated.

Stan hasn't done laundry in months.

Decided, Stan then searches the store for some gloves. He can't find any. Instead, he finds a hat and a matching pair of mittens; all three pieces are dark and smell like damp, but Stan needs them. The El Diablo's heat can be intermittent in the extreme cold—often not working at all—and it hurts Stan's hands to hold a frozen leather steering for long periods of time.

"Better than nothin'," Stan tells himself before he scoops up the hat and mittens and heads up to the front of the store. He goes to the only cashier working, a reedy teenage boy with a thin face, a thin mouth, and a thin mustache. Skinny doesn't greet him, merely begins to punch in the prices after Stan sets his stuff down.

"Seven fifty," he intones when he's finished bundling everything into a plastic shopper.

Stan digs in his pockets. Dumps all his dirty change on the counter. Skinny exhales through his nose in irritation at the small pile, but says nothing as he sorts the coins and adds them to his till: quarters first, then dimes, then nickels, then pennies.

"You owe forty-three cents," Skinny says.

Stan is too tired to argue. Too tired to be sarcastic. He just shrugs and says, "S'all I got, kiddo."

For the first time since Stan walked up, the teenager lifts his gaze from the counter and looks at Stan. Stan has no illusions about what the kid sees. He's a fat, middle-aged man with an uncombed mullet, bags under his eyes, and a gross t-shirt. Skinny probably sees someone like Stan every time he works. Sees the symptoms of poverty—the weary slump, the flat eyes, the resignation—

Skinny closes the drawer and hands Stan his purchases.

"Have a good day," Skinny says.

"Yeah," Stan gruffs. "You too."

.

Stan dons his new coat in the parking lot. Tosses the hat and mittens onto the passenger seat. Starts the El Diablo and freezes when it takes a moment for the engine to respond. Thanks a god he never believed in when a familiar rumble fills his ears.

"Halfway there," Stan tells the dashboard. "Just one more day."

The fuel gauge sits dangerously low until Stan can find a small, slow gas station at the edge of town. The attendant manning the till inside looks up and waves. Stan returns the gesture with a smile before he fills his tank.

Stan looks up. The attendant waves again. Stan smiles again even as unease begins to prickle beneath his skin. He needs the attendant to be distracted so he can drive away without the police being called or his license plate number being taken down. Thankfully, most people are easily bored, and Stan only needs to spend a few minutes cleaning out his car for the attendant's attention to turn elsewhere.

Ha! Stan crows silently as he slips into his car. Gotcha!

And a minute later, when the attendant looks up from her big book of crosswords, the only thing left outside will be a bin full of garbage.

.

Willard. Brigham City. Tremonton.

The earth turns tan. Naked aspens and thin pines sprout out of the ground between knee-high shrubs. Little towns with names like Blue Creek and Snowville pop up and disappear faster than Stan can blink.

Less than two hours after Stan has left Ogden, he crosses the border into Idaho.

Juniper. Sublett. Cotterel. Burley.

By the time Stan hits Twin Falls, the temperate drops below freezing.

King Hill. Chalk Cut.

Mountain Home.

Mayfield.

By the time Stan hits Boise, he sees snow for the first time in years. The heat of the desert has softened his remembrance of it, made him forget how deceiving it was, how pervasive. White flakes falls from an unchanging gray sky and build on the black pavement of western-winding interstate. He skids twice on unseen ice and nearly ends up in a ditch before he remembers to mind his lead foot.

Nampa. Caldwell.

Then a green sign says in white: Welcome to Oregon.

.

Vale.

The towns begin to shrink—the towns begin to s t r e t c h—

Harper.

The towns begin to hide behind the boughs of dense conifers—to peek through the skeletal branches of sleeping deciduous trees—

Juntura.

The towns begin to whisper secrets in the stillness—

.

WELCOME TO GRAVITY FALLS

.

part two

.

[superwakeandbakealamosa]

An Industrial Hemp plant La Jara Colorado

[thorsenmark]

Patterns of Clouds off and Airplane Wing by Mark Stevens Via Flickr: During this flight to SLC, I found myself enjoying the views of clouds. Here I noticed the updrafts of a few off the left wing and captured that, letting the remainder of the photo open up to others I was soon to take in. Shortly afterwards, I saw lots of haze from the recent wildfires in Colorado.

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