Although a slot might remain untouched for a hundred years, it was equally likely, depending on the alignment of storm cells and cloudbursts, for that same slot to be scoured down to bedrock once every three years. As Rich and Todd took note of these changes, they began to see that the beauty of these transitory worlds was a blade whose edge was sharpened by the awareness of its evanescence—the haunted knowledge that the elements that made these places so lovely were destined to be obliterated, in the blink of an eye.
