Billy the Kid

Tomorrow morning I leave to go back to Northern Arizona. I have to  say hello to Billy the Kid, our live-in road runner who isn’t afraid of people. We feed him live mice which he whips around and swallows. It’s back to visiting the Grand Canyon every day and getting paid for it. The nights out there are quite rare. Even in rural Utah, the stars don’t stick out as boldly as they do there. At night we have frogs croaking, desert pack rats moving about, and so many different insects making noise besides crickets. It almost feels like your stuck in a trance after the sun goes down. I can’t help but wander what I’ve been missing, even growing up in Southern Utah. The Strip is so different. It’s the 80 mile stretch that really changes the aura. Right before I go to bed in the bunk house, I pause to view the busy stars while listening to desert toads and hearing the wind shifting cottonwood branches.

The landscape around the ranch is covered with evidence of previous cultures and people who called this home. It’s so bone dry, you can only speculate as to how they survived such ruggedness and harshness. It’s cooling off a little; they say it isn’t as hot as it was the week before I came. I sure do love educating the folks that fly in from Vegas, they are so overwhelmed by the beauty that the ranch offers, especially in such close proximity to the Grand Canyon.

Billy the kid is the most interesting bird. He hangs out with us, literally. It’s hard to believe he’s even wild. He acts like he was raised and nurtured by humans. I may have to write some more in the journal tonight. Supper is calling…

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