Wylie Coyote crosses your paved path on a furtive sunrise mission. Bushes previously bearing every semblance to willows have burst into orchid–like bloom. A light desert perfume fills the air. And the birds, the birds each in their native language are calling, screaming, whooping and chortling at the top of their lungs. One last cool breeze of late spring causes you to raise your thin hoodie to cover neck and ears. The sun peeps over a barren movie set laden with monoliths and monuments and you, yourself, cast a long, very long shadow.