"I don’t know how to set the scene for you. Let’s try this: imagine you are standing on a wide, graded, rust-brown dirt path. It snakes along through steep hills that look crumpled from a distance, but, here among them, they are towering. Thatched in dead grasses, they glow a tarnished gold under robin’s egg skies. The seams of the canyons run wild with dusty trees, clinging to the steep slopes.

There is a lone, majestic oak perched high on the hill before you. Under its gnarled, wind-tossed branches stands..."