The tuff at Bandolier is indeed soft; it gave way with just the scrape of my fingernail. I looked out over the dugouts dotting the face of the cliff. Some are large cavates, rooms with blackened chimneys where families ate and worked and slept, others only tall and wide enough to sleep two.
At night, safe from the wolves, one could count the stars in a midnight sky above the valley of thick pine. I thought how wonderful it would be to lie with a lover under warm furs, nestled in the sheltering stone, lulled by the sound of the wind racing around the caldera.
Another alcove, its ceiling pocked with cavities, was single-sized but cozy. I touched one of the little holes and something dropped into my lap. It was a quartz crystal.Â