Thin sticks of frost this morning, hard ground tattooed with horseshoes, paw prints,
fat tire prints, walking shoes. “Excuse me,” a young woman shouts to me, “Where’s
the Wills?” "This is Wills Canyon,” I call back. “But where’s the Wills?” she insists.

To find your way,
               follow the path that leaves your footprints
                                                                           without your feet.