In Colorado, the elemental forces of the desert and mountains meet: wind, dominant in the scoured aridlands, here locked in struggle with the water of the alpine mountains. There is a line above which precipitation outweighs evaporation and it is from these lands that all rivers flow.
Wind picks up the sand and deposits it in a crook of the mountains arrayed about, who in turn let down the flow of the headwaters of the Rio Grande, great snake that cuts through a thousand miles of canyonlands to reach the Sea. The flow smooths the land incessantly like an overprotective mother.
Here is my high water mark, from whence I, too, will flow back to the desert. I have found the headwaters.
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