Not 99. Not 101. Five minutes in my life.
The rock at Bandolier was indeed soft. I looked out over the dugouts dotting the face of the cliff wall. Some were rooms with blackened chimneys where families ate and slept, or just tall and wide enough to sleep two. I thought about how wonderful it would be to lie with a lover in the sheltering stone, high above a valley of thick pine, safe from the wolves, listening to the wind and warm under furs. I tried a smaller one. Cozy. I sat looking into one of the ceiling’s vesicles, and something dropped into my lap: a quartz crystal.