Story
These pieces are about a connection to a missed memory--a fleeting dream that maybe wasn’t a dream. Did we really ride out of Durango with the sagebrush on our shins, the aspen in our hair, the bison wrangler holding steady to her lead line? Did we really crouch low in the crisp fall morning canyon, the smell of cigarette smoke and gunpowder on Grandad's hunting jacket? Did we really meet him at the saguaro lounge, the roadsmith selling butterflies in jars out of the back of a rusted Pontiac? Our stories are still there but the memory is fuzzy, faded, vintage.
