Wandering around at twilight, in a wash outside of a neighborhood in Phoenix, Arizona. The sun was setting, and a glowing red hue blanketed the hills as I took her hand and told her not to walk next to any holes. I said I wasn't sure if there would be rattlesnakes. She's never been here before. We walked together, tripped over rocks and examined strange plants. Ran to the different cacti that we found towering over the both of us. The sky was endless and cars in the distance silhouetted, and soon were the hills, and soon each other. I suppose we found our way out just in time, as the ground was harder to see and the air increasingly felt anxious. We were back between clay houses and asphalt, a world within a world. We were little ghosts dancing around the night in the desert, just her and I, and the prickly giants that keep the land.