The desert opens like a crimson book,
In every jagged stone and shadowed nook.
A path of timber and of iron spine
Cuts through the ancient canyon’s red design.
a timeless tale is spun,
Of rugged riders and the midday sun.
The canyon walls arise in layered might,
Basking in waves of golden, dusty light.
Great mounds of terracotta, carved by time,
Encircle a tunnel, massive and sublime—
An arch of brickwork framing empty air,
With painted bands of color splashed with care,
Where teal and yellow trim the cavern's face,
Bringing a strangeness to this wild place.
Through this great stone, the railway tracks are laid,
A double line of shadow and of shade.
The wooden ties are nested in the scree,
Vanishing deep into the mystery,
For down the tunnel’s throat, a second door,
Reveals the desert sun and tracks once more,
A nested loop of iron, rock, and sky,
Where distant cows under the hot sun lie.
Upon the left, a silent guardian waits,
A cowboy halted near the canyon gates.
He sits his bay with easy, practiced grace,
A dark-brimmed hat obscuring half his face,
His denim jacket and his kerchief red
Echoing paths where earlier travelers led.
Behind him rides another on the plain,
A distant figure on a looser rein.
Upon the right, a grander gesture stands:
A rider shouting to the dusty lands.
Dressed in a vibrant shirt of striking blue,
He raises high his arm to guide the crew.
His chestnut mount is poised, its eyes awake,
Watching the movement that the cattle make,
As pale and spotted cows amble beside,
Part of the herd along this lonely ride.
The sky above is bright with scattered fleece,
Puffy white clouds that offer no release,
Just drifting softly o'er the canyon floor,
Where stones and scrub-grass gather by the score.
A painted world where iron meets the clay,
And cowboys herd their stock along the way.
