I’ve heard this site was one of the oldest human settlements in North America. Long departed now, nothing remains but a hill of discarded shells surrounded by windblown dunes. And the wind. The wind has always been here. It was already blowing steady with undertones of far greater force to come and it was only mid morning. I had a dilemma. There was a broad rocky plateau from which a finger of precipice extended. The plateau had nice views and was lined by an eroded dirt bank providing excellent wind block. The view I sought was out on that finger though, and as it was the wind was blowing full force into it, slamming into the face and rushing over it toward the caves. A dicey spot to paint from to be sure. In these times I always take a moment to seek direction. Even in the noise of …