In Moonshine Wash, dirt gets in my Chacos. Penny needs to pee. Milo is hot. Van and Asher have gone ahead and Sammy says, can I hold your hand? We drove for hours to get here: Green River exit, over the tracks, gravel road for miles. We slept on the stone, furious wind, Tylenol PM. And now in the red slots — towering to the sky — shimmying, climbing, jamming. These babies of mine: scraped forearms, bulging calves, screaming laughter. Tuna fish crackers, sunscreen sweat, shoes full of terracotta sand. Miles in the canyon. Miles on top. The car a speck on the horizon. Our water getting low. We walk on the rock, avoiding the thousands-of-years-old cryptobiotic crust. Mom, Penny says, has anyone ever been here before?