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    Many of my summer vacation days were spent triangulating Texas on roads originating way south to farthest east and farther west to visit our grandparents. Our family of five often continued up into New Mexico and beyond. In 1962, my parents drove us to the Seattle World’s Fair from the Lower Rio Grande Valley of Texas. All to say, my view of the landscape was crafted through the windows of our Chevy station wagon.
    As an adult, my seasonal peregrinations between Texas and New Mexico were so steady that I could track changes in the landscape by the markers of lives made in far-spaced towns and interstitial fields, redolent with oil below and wind above, cotton and cattle across. So here is offered a transitory view of the highways, railways, airways, pipelines, and power lines across the Llano Estacado, stitched together at a fleeting 1/500 of a second.

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