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35 | Gluing Photographs of the Petroglyphs Into My Scrapbook In the state park, I photographed ancient art on the stones, volcanic slabs releasing arrows, birds, and horses into the river. The symbols were a brighter color than the horses as if a message was passed from rock to rock. Stick figures danced in a circle and the night brought fires that never went out. I Xeroxed my original photo and cut petroglyphs into a puzzle, my thoughts on the cliff a burned text. I re-arranged the cut-out symbols, but the pattern I glued was not my own and I tried to decipher what I was shown when I climbed to stare at the marked rocks. I glued them into a scrapbook, animals and arrows encircling the hill above the river where someone scraped the rocks so they could speak. I saw another visitor crouching behind boulders where designs painted the ground. I waited but he never stood, designs on the rocks fading because my fingers needed time to trace themselves into the past. ...

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