Heading south we left Boulder, watching the landscape slowly shift and move as we drive across the planes. The only constant is the fence that stands between the rolling asphalt and the landscape in motion. This barbed wire fence, a grid of nine rectangles made of twisted metal, seems to follow us all the way to the edge of the Rio Grande. We mark the landscape as we move through it whether we are passing through just along the fence or tend the land behind it. When driving through the landscape you move as water does, flowing and pooling. When tending this land I imagine you move like soil, expansive rooted and fertile.