The Narrative Image

In our last episode, after appreciating the subtle nuances of Kip’s latest margarita recipe, we were treated to the intermittent unveiling of the Milky Way as patchwork clouds streamed over us to the West. Cows, emboldened by the cover of darkness, venture out to the dry lake’s terminal puddle where the last delicate grasses rise from drying mud.  Minds, free from the constraints of day to day routines, become free to ponder the day’s events and images — to decipher messages preserved in stone for hundreds, maybe even thousands of years. We are by no means the first to sit comforted by our campfire in this shallow basin. Doubtless, others sat before us, watching the universe display its bright jewels. Here, perhaps before a more convincing lake, those others noted the arrivals and departures of skittish deer and elusive big-horn sheep — not today’s tame cows that pulverize sensitive shorelines with great bovine hooves and trample into the mud a generous portion of...

I don’t know how it started for sure. Some intrepid band of Homo sapiens maybe walked over a land bridge from Russia or navigated the seas in functional watercraft. Maybe, at first, they followed the easy paths provided by beaches or slow-moving rivers, living on a wealth of migrating fish and fowl. Fueled by the discovery of other resources, they cut trails into the land’s interior. If they succeeded, others followed. The trails became roads. Some roads are stable, while others are erased by encroaching rivers, covered by seasonal lakes or interrupted by landslides. Due to the vagaries of economics, some roads fall into disuse while others are appropriated and paved. All roads are contingent on their usefulness. Like a network of synapses growing in a brain, roads link us to memories. At the same time, they stretch ever outward, allowing us to reach the edges of the known — where ghosts still whisper and discoveries can yet be made. Uncle Rico thrives in the margins where roa...