YOURS SINCERELY

A natural beauty in this land which is timeless and an occasional meditative study of some of God's hourglasses would do us all wonders by relieving some of the anxiety which is a symptom of this frenétic pace. I would like to see you expand the scope of ARIZONA HIGHWAYS frequently to include other areas of the West. A color series on Yosemite, Rainier, Yellowstone, and countless other lesser known areas could add even more to what is already a unique magazine. "The Delicate Arch," December, 1952, was an example of this. To me it was a study in eternity.Joseph H. Ryder West Haven, Connecticut

Charles W. Boegel Mt. Morris, Illinois Of all the superlative portraits by J. H. McGibbeny appearing in the July issue, the picture of the Navajo mother and daughter ("We Two") is the most enchanting. The nobility and maturity of the mother and the pure delight glowing from the handsome little girl are unforgettable. Altogether, these endur-the Navajo Indian-they form a magnificent salute to the human race.

Francis Hall Marysville, California

Mrs. E. E. Parisher Flagstaff, Arizona

M. M. Sommerville Arcadia, California

Miami; Apprentice Seaman James Randolf Vanhorn, Tucson; Fireman 1/c Roy Eugene Wood, Yuma.

WHO CAME BEFORE The faint trail wanders through the desert land Now lost in sage and tangled creosote Now covered by a highway new and grand Here lies the tale the saga that they wrote! Proud men of Spain who sought for gems and gold; Tired, sandaled friars, pursuing souls for God; Homeseekers; pioneers; adventurers boldRead here the signs! This was the path they trod.

Now mines give forth their largesse; cities rise; Church upon church lift heavenward their spire. The task which they began near finished lies; The dream they kindled bursts in splendid fire! But they are ashes. In the mountain shade These take their rest a hundred years and more And faint and fainter still the prints they madeWhile we forget these men who went before.

Yet when the moonlight masks the mesaed plain Old wagons creak their way through shadowed pass And shouts are heard in liquid tongue of Spain And friar vests him for his morning Mass. They smile-these hosts at us who claim the land And trail they blazed across this rock and sand!

MARY MABEL WIRRIES OCTOBER DESERT NIGHT Ragged clouds across the moon, Lazy breezes drifting by. Mesa tops like silver cloth And canyons painted ebony. Rattled swords of Joshuas Mixed with coyote howl, Eerie light the valley finds With stars above it all. Campfire stabbing at quick chill Thorn for thorn with splitting tongue, Marionetting shadow-dust Past new graves the night has dug. Tombstones set to memory Urning ashes from pale dreams. Reality a powder-ghost Stuttering and asking alms.

GASTON BURRIDGE HITCHING POSTS Within the plaza of a modern town, Alive with hum of traffic night and day, Stand two old hitching posts, now weathered brown, As relics of the brave equestrian way Of those who built the frontiers with their stand Against the foes of nature and of law, Who conquered perils in a barren land, And mighty futures in the west foresaw. Though pioneer and horse have passed from sight,The memory of them is manifest As hitching posts stand proudly, still upright, To mark the way of progress in the west.

GRACE B. WILSON Listen! A faint dry sound, Like steps of passing ghosts,Is heard as tumbleweeds skip with The wind!

BETTIE PAYNE WELLES