Scattered Saguaro cacti bones are strewn along the Palo Verde trail.
The wanderer slowly steps over the sacred remains of the two hundred year old desert soldier. He carefully makes his way along, laughing at the warning signs to watch for illegals that may be trying to cross the washes in search of a better life.
Out here, you either die alone or survive alone. Any other approach will fail you in the Organ Pipe. He heeds to the call of a wise owl hidden in the brush, licks his canteen dry of the last remaining drops of water, and becomes one with the bones of Saguaro.
He has transformed this transcendental existence.

Wench, bring my ale, what say you?

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