As though flung

Skinny road threads between black cliff, cold river. On the curve’s cusp, the well-ordered cross hugs a rock, a tree.

Routed edges of bright pine boards catch filtered mountain sun. A ring of faded blue flowers cups FATHER-stamped wood and a pot of flowers lies overturned, as though flung container-first from a passing car.

State Highway 63
San Miguel County, New Mexico