YOURS SINCERELY

CHOLLA: ... I saw the instructions on how to play “Cholla” in ARIZONA HIGHWAYS. NOw my friends and I are playing the game and enjoy it very much. We have chosen up and play a game each day after school. I have three horses to play with. I want to thank you and Paul Coze for thinking up the game and publishing it.

COLOR CLASSICS:

Now ... I have every 35 mm slide you have issued and I cannot tell you how much pleasure they have given my friends and my family. Do you know if slides are available from other publications in other parts of the country?

SUPERLATIVE:

...

FARAWAY FRIEND:

Writing is one of life's trials that I do my best to avoid but, after receiving a copy of the December issue of ARIZONA HIGHWAYS, I felt absolutely impelled to write a congratulatory letter to you. As an amateur photographer of long standing and of fairly wide experience, I consider that your colour pictures are second to none, both photographically and as examples of colour reproduction. The printing and general set up of the whole of the publication are excellent.

FRIEND IN GERMANY:

Being ... Being on a visit to Bingen, I discovered that the owner of the Hotel Rheinterrassen in Bingen possessed a remarkable collection of ARIZONA HIGHWAYS. The owner, A. Kehl, proudly explained of having received all his ARIZONA HIGHWAYS through a brother who lives in Calif.

Going over the Inn's collection and having an interest in forestry, I was pleased and delighted to discover an article written by Joyce Rockwood Muench, entitled; “The Green Roof of the Kaibab.” Seldom do I feel the need of reading an article twice but the well-defined diction, the eloquent description and her detailed knowledge of an area so dear to my heart compelled me to do so. How I am longing to see my favorite trees again-these Aspens en masse! God may impair their physical perfection-but they will never lose their charm.

REFRESHING:

ARIZONA HIGHWAYS is the most refreshing magazine I've ever read. Perhaps you won't understand what I mean by “refreshing” unless you've lived in a crowded city where you can't see into the next block. The pictures are truly wonderful, but best of all is the way you describe the bigness and beauty of the West. It makes one feel almost like they're there, enjoying it, too. Maybe I won't ever get to see Arizona, or any part of the West, but your magazine can certainly make a person dream!

BACK COVER

"PAINTED REDSTART" BY DON BLEITZ. To the upper canyons of the mountains in Southern Arizona and New Mexico, these feathered butterflies (Setophaga picta picta) come to nest each spring. As they flit nervously from place to place they often alight momentarily, with wings and tail spread, to display their lovely feather patterns. The male's coloration is a little brighter, but similar to that of the female.

OPPOSITE PAGE

"SCOTT'S ORIOLE" BY DON BLEITZ. Throughout much of the Southwest on the desert side of mountains and on cactus plains, wherever the beautiful yucca bloom, these lovely Orioles (Icterus parisorum) come to nest in the spring. The male may be easily identified by his pure black head and bright yellow breast. Males of other Orioles found in this area are orange rather than yellow. The call, a long meadowlark-like warble, is also distinctive.

CYCLE

The darkness lifts. The sky's soft pearly sheen Gives way to jade and silver, rose and flame. Morn. The day's alive. A golden sun gleams in the azure dome Across which drift white swansdown puffs of cloud. Noon.

The sun has gone And, after the rainbow pageant of its going Follows sapphire canopy inlaid with shimmering stars. Night.

THE RACE

Night is a steed With foam-flecked sides, Who races along, As the moon's shell rides Higher, higher In the frosted sky, Through crackling stars, Through winds that sigh; And soon, steed of black And disc of gold Race, side by side, Till the steed is old; And then, the moon Goes skimming by, Leaving the steed Behind to die.

PINTOS

A string of pintos coming down to drink. Lean, dusty pintos, rust and cream and black, Mouse-gray and silver-smoke, all flecked with piñon shade. The canyon echoes to their unshod hoofs Against the rocks. Old sycamores and willows tent Their waterhole and drafts come cool and sweet with smells Of cress and ferns and moulding leaves. With flying manes that whet an amber sun They thunder through a haze of salmon colored dust. A string of pintos coming down to drink, Lean, dusty pintos, rust and cream and black.