Where the Walls Stand Up

Polly followed the sandy wash into the canyon. By the middle of the morning, she saw that the raven was right. The walls had grown. They were now four or five times higher than at the entrance. The red rock went straight up, with no ledges and no easy way to climb.

Long dark lines ran down the cliff. They looked like black ink. Polly flew closer to look at them. The lines were not paint and they were not shadow. They were a thin dark coat left by water, dust and tiny living things over a very long time.

Under a curved part of the wall, Polly found a city made of mud. Hundreds of small round swallow nests sat on the stone, side by side. The swallows flew past her very fast. Ride the wall, one of them said. Warm air rises here all afternoon.

So Polly rode the wall. The warm air lifted her along the red rock, and she did not move her wings at all. That evening she looked up. The cliff on the other side was more than a thousand feet high. The canyon had grown around her.