September 26, Tusayan. Dull from the five-hour drive from Las Vegas. It is eight when we arrive, dark. When we drove up the fifty miles from Williams, I think of the Hopi, who must have led the Spaniards through an equal darkness – everything is so much more equal in the dark. And what kind of perplexity about their own existence those people must have felt five hundred years ago, squatting in the dark or by the fire, and how that perplexity is comparable to mine.

My son criticizes that I write so astonishingly little about some days.