pitch dark in
CORDOVA, ALABAMA, the Deep South,

            pitch dark in
CORDOVA, ALASKA, the Far North, closest to the dreadful, the Monday when it is still Sunday here, the fascinating, sinister country with its unexpected satellite shots, the country of bad dreams that pursue you all night and insinuate, among your daylight thoughts, despite all your efforts, so many tiny ruinous whisperings like a leak in these ceiling of an old room, the monstrous country of bears,—pitch dark in

DOUGLAS, near Glacier Bay National Monument (any natural or
                 archaeological curiosity considered worthy of being preserved from the indiscretion of settlers or tourists is called a national monument),
           pitch dark in DOUGLAS, Mountain Time, ARIZONA, the Far West,—the Navajo
           Indian Reservation. (Most of the approximately five hundred thousand Indians of the United States live on reservations scattered throughout the country, to which they have gradually been confined during the occupation of the land by the white invader. It would not be kind to compare them to concentration camps. It would even be rather unfair: some of these reservations are tourist attractions.)

“Despite the bigness of the Southwest, little things—sights, sounds, and smells—often create the most lasting impressions. Here are some:
- strings of scarlet chill drying against adobe walls,
- golden aspens mantling a mountain’s shoulders,
- lithe relaxation of Navajos outside a training post,
- awkward speed of a fleeing roadrunner,
- massive thunderhead dragging its braids of rain,
- immobility of tumbleweeds banked against a fence,
- line of resigned autos waiting out a flash flood,
- single-file string of steers approaching a waterhole,
- echoes and silences in a great cliff-dwelling ruin,
- bawling of restless cattle at a roundup,
- heady aroma of campfire coffee,
- carefree boys ‘in the raw’ splashing in a stock tank,
- squeal of fighting, bucking horse at a rodeo,
- wail of a coyote—and yapping of others—at night,
- drum throbs and shrill chant of an Indian dance,
- musty odor of creosote bush after rain,
- bray of a distant wild burro just after sunrise,
- harsh smell of singed flesh at a branding corral,
- sudden pelting rush of a summer thunderstorm,
- unbelievable immensity of the Grand Canyon,
- juiciness of thick steak broiled over mesquite coals,
- stars that you can reach from your sleeping bag,
- splash and tug of a mountain trout hitting your fly,
- tang of enchiladas smothered in chili sauce” (fromThe American Southwest by Dodge and Zim, “with more than 400 subjects in full color,
- Natural Wonders,
- Indian Villages,
- Historic Sites,
- Scenic Routes,
- Guide Maps,
- Public parks,
- Minerals,
- Animals,
- Birds,
- Trees,
- Flowers”).

Petrified Forest National Monument, —pitch dark in

FLORENCE, on the Gila River, near Casa Grande National Monument,

            already not so dark in FLORENCE, Central Time.

Blue night.

The Ozark Mountains, —across the southwest state line,

                  FLORENCE.

GEORGETOWN, White Country.

The mountains at night.

A Buick on the highway (speed limit 60 miles).

                  GEORGETOWN, county seat of Williamson Country,—continuing west

                              GEORGETOWN, New Mexico,—the Zuni Indian Reservation

LA GRANGE, Lee County, ARKANSAS.

The alarm clock goes off.

B.P., British Petroleum.

            LA GRANGE, county seat of Fayette County, TEXAS.

            The sea at night.

MARSHALL, in the Land of Opportunity.

He was dreaming.

Ouachita Lake.

            MARSHALL, county seat of Harrison County.

In the first of his magnificent large plates devoted to the birds of America, John James Audubon (1780-1851), one of America’s greatest naturalists, painted the male wild turkey.

            ELDORADO.

EL DORADO, ARKANSAS, the Wonder State.

He was dreaming he was tall.

The Roman Catholic church,—over the western state line,

            ELDORADO, OKLAHOMA,—the Osage Indian Reservation.

Two yellow-billed cuckoos, on a branch of blemished leaves, the one on the left exposing its white belly, the one on the right grasping the body of a large butterfly.

            MARSHALL.

She was dreaming she was beautiful . . .

Mystic Cavern, across the Father of Waters,

            GREENWOOD, MISSISSIPPI, the Deep South.

BENTON, with its bauxite mines, county seat of Saline County.

That she won a beauty prize . . .

Big Hurricane Cavern,—across the Father of Waters, but farther north,

            BENTON, TENNESEE, the South.

The prothonotary warbler, clinging to the cave vine, head and breast bright yellow, black and white fan-shaped tail, --across the southern state line,

                        BENTON, LOUISIANA, the Deep South.

The parula warbler, perched on a large salmon iris known as the Louisiana flag, -- across the northern state line,

                                    BENTON.