Sonora to Del Rio Essay
Sonora to Del Rio is a hundred barren milesWhere the sotol weave and shimmer in the sun—Like a host of swaying serpents straying down the bare defilesWhen the silver, scarlet webs of dawn are spun.
There are little ’dobe ranchoes, brooding far along the skyOn the sullen, dreary bosoms of the hills.Not a wolf to break the quiet, not a single bird to fly;Where the silence is so utter that it thrills.Maybe, in the heat of evening, comes a wind from MexicoLaden with the heat of seven Hells,And the rattler in the yucca and the buzzard dark and slowHear and understand the grisly tales it tells.Gaunt and stark and bare and mocking rise the everlasting cliffsLike a row of sullen giants carved of stone,Till the traveler, mazed with silence, thinks to look at hieroglyphs,Thinks to see a carven pharaoh on his throne.And the road goes on forever, o’er the barren hills forever,And there’s little to hint of flowing wine—But beyond the hills and sotol there’s a mellow curving riverAnd a land of sun and mellow wine.
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by Robert E. Howard