Sun Valley, Arizona. On Monday afternoon we stopped halfway between Albuquerque and Sedona. Our Passport America book (half-price rates for members) listed Root-66 RV Park in Sun Valley, just off I-40. I loved the place from the start. This romance was allowed to blossom because in the off-season, they're not full, so the park just blended into the prairie. (Desert?) There was the big friendly dog—adopted 6 years ago after she wandered in. The chickens roaming close to the house/office. The mural. The tire ring. And the large amounts of petrified wood. The spaghetti sauce we brought frozen, from home, mixed with rice and baby spinach provided a quick meal, along with salad. But the bright star of our cuisine scene was a slab each of Mary's sour cream chocolate cake. A rich symbol of our time spent with Frank and Mary and the girls. I washed the dishes. We walked the dogs. Then, sunset. Then, sunrise, sparking the stop sign in the distance—the morning's red jewel. Peace inside me and out. The perfect moment to shop for petrified wood, by the pound. Holding bark and core*—cold, heavy with mystery, proof of time.

*How I wish I could say with assurance: xylem, phloem(?) and more. Alas. That naming is not for me.