“But what if it has no heart?”, she said.
“That’s a risk we’re just going to have to take.”
I drove north from the town of Prescott Valley (not to be confused with the city of Prescott, though they sit side-by-side) on a glorious but cold April morning. Blue skies and lots of clouds, some of which had streamers of snow flurries hanging down from them.
Once past the new subdivisions, I became surrounded by even more open sky. Mountains to the west, south, and east; hills to the north. Miles and miles of mile-high prairie smack dab in the middle. I had found the heart of Lonesome Valley.
The locals don’t call it that, though. Maybe they’re no longer lonesome. Maybe they don’t use maps. Maybe Lonesome Valley is a mythical place.
If it isn’t yet, it will be when I get done with it.
Photo location: Yavapai County, Arizona.