"There once was an old woman who lived in the eye of the wind. Breezes swirled leaves in whirlwinds down her street and gales scoured the prairie, ripping the shutters of her neighbor's house, but her yard and house were unscathed. Her house was a rosy sandstone fortress that budged not an inch under the raking teeth of the Wyoming wind, though year by year its stony walls lost grain after grain of pale pink sand. The stone was the pink-orange color of sunset, quarried from the hills east of Laramie. The woman and her husband had built the house long ago when they were young."