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Dust Devil 

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Zen stones we balance in the arroyo mostly seco. Meditations on equilibrium in the Tucson Mountain Chaos. Grey granite improbably poised on point in a pink flow of rhyolite intrusion. Boulders turned to ballerinas wait for monsoon dancing waters to spin them tumbling round. Sometimes the spoiler comes first, destroyer, scatterer of our stones. We rebuild, rebalance. There are plenty of stones—and more who build than who destroy.

—CeLe

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