...to the north, and to the south, the grace miller home was flanked by a pair of deserted, and dilapidated, motels, each slowly dissolving under the desert sun. behind the home was open wilderness so we slowly and quietly purchased these parcels before acquiring the neutra and the massive piles of rotting timber on either side. both motels sat adjacent to corresponding, coffin-shaped pools that we'd initially planned on imploding after watching the lodges go up in flames. we changed our minds and left the over-sized pools, each lovingly designed and purpose-built to refresh. we sold her morgan and one of my mopars and invested in a cacti curtain surrounding the pools. cavernous, subterranean water pockets, unrelenting heat, and we returned to layer upon layer of dense, native flora, insulating the pools from the miller home, with nothing but miles of unlit, sandy trails between. it was a game for us; no air conditioning, on the verge of heat stroke, we wandered the gardens under the pitch black, and eventually found what we were looking for, often hours after emerging from the sleeping porch...
