With the flagging tape in hand, we redefined our boundaries.
I unrolled the flagging tape and meticulously measured out a fifteen-meter circle. “Perimeter is growing,” I announced with urgency. Dana captured a wide shot, then focused tightly on the fissure. She recited the time sternly and jotted down angles in the worksheet. “Main approach route established,” I declared, driving stakes into the ground and securing the tape to a creosote bush. I determined an entry location and affixed a label. “Camera one active, angle three,” Dana asserted. She photographed the markers diligently, then included a detailed sketch in the log.
With the flagging tape in hand, we redefined our boundaries.
Upwind, our hearts steadied the fragile slit.
We crept against the wind, carefully securing tiny clips along the incision to stop any ripping. “Stay away from the inside,” I warned. Dana steadied the camera and fastened the tripod in place. The wind swept dust from the dry riverbed. I inspected my gloves, opting for clean replacements. “Sound is live as well,” Dana noted, tapping her microphone. I unfolded tarps to create a neat space and removed the cactus needles from the earth. “Thomas should appear over the ridge any moment now,” I said, my eyes scanning the road.
Upwind, our hearts steadied the fragile slit.
