This is not California with it's cool and cloudy coast.
This is not Savannah with it's green trees and humidity.
This is not even Phoenix with its baking heat.
This is the high desert with monsoons, winds and dry air.
There are real seasons here: hot summers, beautifully moderate autumns, cold winters, fabulous springs.
There are heavy rains from the Mexican monsoons in June and July when the dry washes become full of raging brown water.
This is the high desert and I love it, icicles, dust storms, scorpions, wildflowers and all.
Smoothly prosaic and succinct, speaking as someone who is familiar with the high desert in several locales around the world. I am particularly fond of those geophysical regions where the chaparral and high desert zones overlap, but heck, I'm also a big fan of four distinct seasons a year. Your tome brings all those thoughts and evokes many happy memories of earlier life (now I reside in that self-same 'Calipornia' that USED to be such a pleasant place, nuff sed!) is such places. That is nature at its primal finest, IMO.
Jeff Martin, his friend, Hawk, and his dachshund dog are captured by Osage Indians. Eventually they escape and find their way home. Due to his unusual shape Adolphus is called a Spirit Dog.
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