When the crows come home to roost,
tarry not beneath the trees. In fact,
better not even venture beneath the crow trees
to begin with.


I was living in Albuquerque, New Mexico, when arsonists
burned down the Indian School campus.
If they ever worked out who committed the arson, I didn't hear,
and that was decades ago.
Whoever did the job was fairly professional about it.
One entire city block for the majority of the campus buildings.
Not only is that area rather thickly settled, but across the streets
there were things like that art museum for Indian art,
and the old school chapel that became its own little
Catholic parish.
Nobody torched the Queen of Angels Indian Chapel, as
I had feared they would do.
Also, Interstate 40 goes past that campus
(the east-west limited-access highway which
rendered Route 66 obsolete).
And although, as I observed in my car,
I could drive on Interstate 40 and literally watch
the Indian School campus in flames,
there was no danger to the highway itself
and nobody closed off the highway.

About unmarked graves, however,
if there were any of those in Albuquerque
then people were remarkably quiet about them,
and I knew a bunch of Indian School graduates.