You know how you remember where you were, who you were with, and what you were doing when you listened to such-and-such a song, maybe for the first time? Like Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here” when no doubt you should not have been there, and certainly not with that crowd, under those conditions, in a smoky basement apartment with black lights on Oglethorpe Avenue in Savannah? Right. You do.
This is how it is for me with the first essay I ever heard from what has become Phantom Canyon—“Bathing.”
from Finding (and Keeping) The Yellow Brick Road: Migration Corridors and Flyways
A pronghorn’s surprise appearance on our 40 acres leads to bottle-necks and charred bones, dive-bombing hummingbirds, an elk-chasing mutt, solar-incinerated “streamers,” shooting range bound Elk calves, and the “evisceration” of the 1973 Endangered Species Act.