There is a stark and arid beauty to Death Valley; exposed minerals, sandwiches of rock turned edgewise, reds and rusts, purple hues and maroon, orange and taupe, tawny sands in dunes, hazy hills looming, brown volcanic mounds, zagging patterns in their knitting. But no where is there water, there is no shade. There is no relief from the sun, no solace of shelter. So Tracy will not rest here, even if the name were not antithetical to the exuberant life she lived.
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