Feet

More millipedes, six inches long and shiny as mahogany fiddles. They look like little trains, like the Coast Starlight trucking along. Many wide holes of what Jan calls “evening ants.” If you poke in a stick and bring an ant up into the sun, instantly it dies. Each hole is surrounded by a spread of tiny discarded juniper twigs.

Clear bear tracks in the damp sand of the water chute.

Best of all, near the end of the long day and worn out: four adults lying on their bellies on the sandstone, watching a millipede poop.

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