YOURS SINCERELY

As we send a subscription of Arizona Highways to the Edenhall Hospital at Edinburgh, Scotland, where there are 1500 patients, we get such grateful letters from nurses and patients and the head Red Cross people that I am anxious to let you know of the pleasure our Arizona Highways gives to many, just in one spot, as it is so refreshing to look at our scenery and the magnificent color photography is as stimulating as a tonic to these sick veterans. Other subscriptions we send to "shut-ins," artists, etc., all over the world bring letters almost every month telling of their enjoyment of the magazine. A friend in Scotland has just written saying: "I don't think I ever saw such a lovely magazine, so it was a treat to me as well as the patients one of the Veterans of World War I, a bed patient, just getting over a bad attack was so pleased to have the magazine lent to him and said to be sure and thank you. The Matron came in and had to look too! And admire! Arizona Highways gives enormous pleasure to many and is immensely appreciated I can assure you.

"It is a treat indeed after magazines with nothing but pictures of war wreckage and ruins."

Margaret Douglas Glenalla Chauncey, New York

RECEPTION IN ENGLAND:

I am now back in my own home after 18 months as the RAF Administrative Officer at Falcon Field, Mesa. I find the cold damp English "summer" most unpleasant but I obtain vicarious sunshine and warmth through the magnificent pages of Arizona Highways. How you and your staff manage to make each issue better than the previous one astounds me.

The April number has just arrived and Josef and Joyce Muench have excelled themselves.

My friends here to whom I show Arizona Highways find it very difficult to believe that the colors of the country, the flowers, the sky, and the water are really as they appear in the photographs; and refuse to believe that Josef Muench's "Scene in White Mountains" is true to life. I am glad that I know better!

Nothing but a visit to Arizona will ever convince my wife that mountains are the colors shown in the photographs. So one of these days I shall come back bringing her to see for herself.

H. W. Parker Buckhurst Hill Essex England Siberian Coast. Mr. Jones became acquainted with him one time when he flew to the island during our stay of a number of years at Anchorage, Alaska.

We never knew whether he and his wife ever received the magazine until this summer when a letter and package arrived the same day. The package contained a lovely carved ivory necklace and a seal skin and ivory belt. In the letter he expressed his appreciation of the magazine.

I will give a portion of his letter in his own words. "I had received of your Christmas gifts of Arizona Highways. We sure was very glad to see the strange highways over in Arizona and many other beautiful flowers which shows on that beautiful gift from you and your wife and so my wife and me we gave our thanks to you on this letter. And we had received them long ago right after Christmas and so we sent you a necklace and belt. A few days later another letter came with a sketch of a polar bear on a piece of seal skin. It was sketched by John and again he says"We sure was appreciate on that Arizona Highways Magazine. We are glad to see so many beautiful flowers and many other things which we never see before and so we gave our thanks again to you."

I imagine the magazine is worn out by now and probably seen by all the Eskimos in the village so we will be sending another later number. Perhaps we will give them a subscription. The postage alone will cost about $5.00 air mail a year. Boats don't navigate up there during the winter.

Mrs. M. Glenn Jones Phoenix, Arizona

RECEPTION IN CHICAGO:

Officials of the National Park Service are deeply appreciative of your dedicating the July issue of ARIZONA HIGHWAYS to the "Men and women of the Park Service Areas in the Southwest." There are no more loyal, efficient, and hard-working employees in the National Park Service than those who serve the Southwestern Monuments. The issue itself is a stunning one and we take as much pride in it as I know you do. Personnel Officer, Hugh Miller, whom you knew as Superintendent of the Southwestern National Monuments, has suggested that we send your editorial on Page 3 to all our field offices. May we have your permission to mimeograph it for this purpose? With deep appreciation of the excellent co-operation you always give the National Park Service, and congratulations on the production of a stunning magazine.

RECEPTION IN THE BERING SEA:

I thought it would be of interest to you to know the story of one copy of the 1945 Christmas Highways. Mr. Jones and I sent a copy by airmail to an Eskimo whose name is John Aningayan who lives in an Eskimo village named Gambell on St. Lawrence Island in the Bering Sea between Nome, Alaska and the Hillory A. Tolson Acting Director National Park Service Chicago, Illinois

DESERT DUST

Rain pock-marks the dust, Dust the sun of many months has made Desert dust or dust on mountain grade Settling, shifting, covering every blade. Until the droplets, Heaven sent Dampen a spot, then disappear. As though they fear. The dust!

Jacqueline Treis

DESERT DAWN

In any other place, a new day comes at dawn But on the great Mohave, creation is relived.

Upon the void of night the face of God moves as it did upon the first waters; The graying sky trembles in expectancy, even the rim of hills seems to stir at the words, "Let there be light!"

The miracle is done and all the gold of heaven spills as day upon the world.

Lorraine Babbitt

ARIZONA TREASURE TROVE

Who wants to search for Aladdin's cave Where the fruit of the trees are jewels? I know a land of molten gold, That uses its winds for tools To carve strange shapes from amethyst crags, And writhen pines from jade, And, in and out of its topaz rocks, Its porphory streams are laid. Its mesas swim in an opal mist Under a turquoise sky, And all around, like a precious chain, Its sapphire mountains lie, Who wants to sail to Araby, Or the wilds of Samarcand, When the gold doubloons of the desert stars Swing low to your reaching hand!

Marion C. Allen

NOONHOUR

Heatwaves shimmer across the flats, Cow-hands brown under broad-brimmed hats Swing into the big corral. The horses bolt for the water-trough Before we get their saddles off, While back in the chaparral The rattler coils in the greasewood shade, A lizard pants in the shadow made By a tuft of withered grass. The great, green tent of the Mission fig Makes a wash-room cool and we take a swig From the olla as we pass In spite of the dust and flies and heat We're never too tired nor hot to eat, And then in the quiet noon When the pigeons strut on the sagging barn, We drowse and smoke and swap a yarn Or whistle an idle tune.

Grace S. Douglas