August 13, 2026

Good morning!

It’s Thursday. We’re traveling through the time-space continuum once again, this time landing in Tucson, Arizona—and just in time to wish my oldest brother a happy birthday.

As inviting as this shaded passageway may be, it does not exist for our use. This dry channel, or arroyo, is the domain of javalenas and coyotes and jackrabbits and cottontails and bobcats and roadrunners and other creeping, crawling, slithering creatures that rattle when startled. Here, they can roam freely despite the busy urban surroundings.

At certain times of the year, this trail becomes the exclusive domain of another important creature: moving water. During sudden rainstorms, the arroyo will join an elaborate network of paved dips and channels and tunnels that collect all the lost and lonely raindrops and deposit them safely into the Santa Cruz River.

“Seek not that the things which happen should happen as you wish, but wish the things which happen to be as they are, and you will have a tranquil flow of life.”

—Epicetus

Onwards,

Clara