Dispatch from somewhere out on U.S. 287

Out on the fringes of West Texas, where the sun never sets there is a story of love and loss that is breathless. In one afternoon, when the late summer sun slammed mercilessly against the unyielding soil, a 15 year old girl decided her forbidden love was too much to bear. At the hour of choice, which arrived as a graceless edifice framed against the late summer afternoon, she posted a letter. In the letter, there was the chill of despair and the renunciation of all she knew. She walked the dusty road; the buildings and trees becoming dull, shapeless blotches as the colorless entry to death's doorway beckoned with a sly smile. The Indians call the place, Medicine Mounds. They say the wave of the spirit runs strong there. It is tangible. Yes, it is.