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(From the April/May Zephyr) Red Rock Country…by Damon Falke


Uncle Lloyd took me fishing on a creek above a ghost town in the San Juan Mountains.  He did not take me fishing above a village or an undiscovered community.  He took me fishing above a town of ruins, of remnants, of no people.  The dilapidated sheds and buildings sat quiet in the little valley, keeping the peculiar silence of a place abandoned.  Old blankets, all of them dusty and stained, stayed on the few iron beds still in the cabins.  Drinking glasses and deer mounts were left hanging in what had been a saloon.  The place was quiet.  The place was full of ghosts.


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