IN MARCH OF 2020, I was setting stones just as the COVID-19 shelter-in-place orders were coming down across Denver. Although I jumped a bit as the cell phone emergency alert was pushed through, it wasn’t unexpected. The city had felt emptier and more tentative for weeks. Before this time, moments of quiet and isolation in the city were few and far between. Crouching in the corner of the empty lot, surrounded by rubble, trying to put the pieces together and build something new felt post-apocalyptic. I didn’t know the coming waves that would transmute the world over the course of the ongoing pandemic, but I felt strongly that a movement was forming on this singular city plot. The desolation spoke to me: Drought tolerant is dead. The future is drought dynamic.
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