Thomas Doty – Storyteller
Through the ruins of Manzanar, a World War II camp where Japanese civilians were imprisoned, I walk past the empty entrance gate, across tangles of barbed wire, along pavement crumbling into desert sand. Animals move freely here. Deer browse through sagebrush. A red-tailed hawk rides thermals beyond the boundaries of anything manmade. Past glittering piles of obsidian, I walk old trails that ramble from Poverty Hills to Independence and into the Last Chance range of mountains. Indians wandered through here long before these places were given names now edged with irony. I walk the ruins of Manzanar on this day when walking has no limits.