Sixty years ago, John Ford shot most of Rio Grande near the spot pictured above, a few months after I was born. The river is still just rolling along, quite unfazed by all the intervening anniversaries of these momentous events, before which I stand somewhat amazed:
By this time I’d 'a thought I would be sleeping
In a pine box for all eternity.
I’ve escaped death so many times, I know I’m only living
By the saving grace that’s over me.
(With thanks to BD for the words and PZ for the picture . . .)