Memory Palaces

It is difficult persuading you regarding the fright inside of me. Fright . , dog Django, , close to , , 50 feet, freaked , Django …. , Django, in the presence of – . . . who knows? and a hard snarl of the lowthroat. I frequently nightwalked my dog, but in the slow life of a small county, came on top of one native graveyard. We halted close to the slightly open gate (we portray here) and Django started to snarl this bodydepth utterance. Something was becoming incandescent  just off camera, to the right, approximately 50 feet. I age-freaked seriously for this, and Django remained in snarl. He would not be moved onward. This picture is of the door opened on this cemetery. The light would not be depicted in camera. I understand that this test probably does not swim regarding what I saw, or what Django detected, but I was in the powerful presence of something. I know this to be true. 

The following day I was going back to look, looking for what might have fostered incandescence. The little graveyard was really completely pretty and calm. Some of the gravestones had inscribed dates middle into the 1800’s.

Lane,

Tell me about the photo you took near Gallup. That’s a piece of work. Is it for real? Maybe it’s a skinwalker. You know about them, right? I used to hear some weird stories when we were a little closer to Four Corners. One that I can vaguely call up had to do with an out of the way dirt road, a late night drive, and a human/cat sort of hybrid that ran alongside the car for a while, on the edge –where the headlights met the shadow. And then disappeared. There’s a whole nother tradition of ghosty stuff down south of us in El Norteno but I haven’t heard as many of those tales. I like the idea of these shadowy souls floating around though, like a lot of things I’ve never personally experienced, I place it in my “i don’t know file.”
Anyhow cool stuff.

Yours,

Pete

In 1978, while tramping near Gallup, New Mexico (journeys through time) I photographed this desert runner. Different than in zoos this Mountain Lion, and I saw her alive, there, from my perch on the side of a hot and dirty highway, looking towards the foothills, hoping for some success towards my goal of Taos. At other times (during that same time, a long time away) I would , when working, hear them, with horses tethered to Aspen trees, resting at night after horse packing trips (I was an able horseman and guide) and at such meetings the horses smelling and hearing, spooked and spooky, agitated and trouble for the trips. Those are times when feelings grip you towards your fire, when the cold black oiled air of high mountain meadows closes on you and embers of coals hold your eyes close.