By the Sack

A Black Minorca rooster with glossy green-black plumage, a large single red comb and white earlobes, in a faded denim western shirt with pearl snaps and a red bandana knotted at the neck, standing on dusty ground beside a smoking steel drum at a roadside chile stand, burlap sacks of green chiles beside him, strings of dried red chiles hanging from a tin awning on an adobe building, pale desert mountains under a clear blue sky

Downwind of the Roaster

Every year, for a fortnight, the whole valley smells of roasting chile, and people drive half a day to stand in it. He bought his sack an hour ago. He is still standing downwind of the roaster.

5 September 2026