By Andrew R. Duckworth
Time has worn but couldn’t break and still you stand, baked clay with a steeple in the desert mountain lands. Brown and cream against a clear blue set among the rugged desert hues. San Miguel must have seen so many souls, century after century after century. But adobe holds well. Michael must have stood watch, and fought the devilish elements away, keeping hell at bay. Hell may have tried, but San Miguel prevailed.