Why do I write again about the Southwest? Because I love the land and write from love undertoned by lament. Its immigrants are often spoilers, dependent upon machines for their needs and comforts. Their cities grow like cancers. Their urban towers, incongruous casas grandes, could have been erected anywhere in the world. Their cities' streets are impacted with traffic, the skies obscured, the days and nights grown noisy. Sun, silence and adobe are unknown to inhavitants of the concrete.


Lawrence Clark Powell. Southwest: Three Definitions. Singing Wind Bookstore. 1990. p.40