Ages ago, this valley was covered by Lake Bonneville. The lake still tosses old bones onshore. We can't forget it.

July 25th, 2013, 3pm

It was 36.1°C with few clouds. The breeze was light.

Sometimes, on the days when the desert wind has wandered off and between in-coming airplanes, the furious silence fills your ears with the underwater roar.

Centuries later, the gulls still swoop and circle, screaming their sadness for the receded water.

On the high places, in the fields of prairie grass and sage, you can hear the waves crash in around you. Cicadas become the hiss of lake foam on the strand. And the wind carries an ancient salt tang.

Laura, Amal and Tod said thanks.

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Jess Hutton

I write. I don't like shoes. I do like cheese.

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