More Painted Hills

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The weather completely changed. No rain, clear skies, HOT, bright shiny day. I chatted up all the people at breakfast, and they said yesterday's sunset--the golden slant light on the hills, with the background overcast--only happens once or twice a year. That was just blind good luck. In the heat of the summer, the hills fade from ox-blood to terra cotta, and from vivid mustard to butter and honey. Still gorgeous, but not like yesterday. Today is still quite spectacular, in my opinion.

The town of Mitchell, where I'm staying, is desperately clinging to life. Only the trickle of tourism that brings people to the Painted Hills keeps the town alive. Most of the buildings are falling apart. The stores are closed and boarded up. Residents have to drive an hour to get groceries. The paint is peeling. There's no gas station, no cell phone service. And yet it is ten miles from this astonishing place. Sometimes I just don't understand the world.

You might notice that just to the right of the mound in the foreground is a parking area with one little silver car. That's mine. I was the ONLY person in the park today. Everywhere I went, I was completely alone for miles and miles. I really hope more people come, because the good people of Mitchell want to go on living here. I visited their cemetery, which has a population about ten times larger than the town.