There’s a natural spring in the middle of the city, a pool and a creek and a mile from the river, at that - so much water here in the desert. In just our favorite jeans and the Marfa earrings, we float in blue and green, are we lucid dreaming, gently gliding in the shadows of the rocks. Our fingertips grazing water lily, pickerel weed, American lotus, strings of blooms like a secret language. Later, we lay out on towels, large and striped as flags, claiming this land as our own, but just for this afternoon; when the sun dips below the trees we shake them out, fold them up, and disappear.