| http://www.w3.org/ns/prov#value | - The first time we came to New Mexico in 1982 was by driving hell-bent for leather from California on the way to St. Louis (I had work there.) There was a moment and a vision on that drive -- and on every subsequent one -- that triggered the sense of enchantment: the cleft between those painted cliffs which I have long called a Baroque Mesa at the border between Arizona and New Mexico.
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