High on the mesa, back in the pinyon and juniper forest, there's an old bus. It's been there for a long time. I come to the bus to look, to take pictures, and to think. I wonder about the dreams that brought those wanderers to our mesa. I wonder how they spent their days, and if they watched the stars at night.
Was their fate foretold in the cards? Spades and hearts. A fair-haired woman, a young friend. Obstacles and setbacks. Misfortune.
I wonder where those wanderers went, their left-behind dreams slowly reclaimed by the earth.