The Turqoise Miner

It was my job to seek out the turquoise stones deep within the heart of the desert. I'd often liken myself and my treks to that of the mountain goats, the ibex who could stand on one foot precariously on narrow cliffs, edges and mountain ledges. I was the swift footed one, assured and loyal, trusty to return with the bounty that would ensure my family survival and a little bit more, in times that were harsh, fierce and sometimes outright dangerous. For there were factions, tribal adversaries that were also miners for the precious stones.

There were no claims to any of the caves or caverns or even to the land surrounding them. Anyone who came could take. This was the unspoken rule. But still there were jealousies and rivalries among the *pickers* and getting to and from intact was a skill that required swiftness, intelligence and the ability to become invisible, riding low, keeping small and inconspicuous.

It helped to have company on these treks - my guide, friend and ally - my blessed white donkey - Shafir - *the Best* - and my dog - Kal - the *light one* who could intimidate mountain lions and take down rough necked ravens that would follow us from camp to the camp, annoying screamers that they were - in the face of Kal - they didn't stand a chance. But more so in the face of adversaries - his ears would perk, his senses sharpened at the slightest movement in the deep sacred quietude of the desert we would claim as ours each new moon.