By Bill Moake
The lonely desert mesas stretched to a line of mountains etched on the stark blue horizon. At an elevation of 7,000 feet, the morning air was crisp and cool, even though it was July in New Mexico. I was alone in front of a little shrine that reminded me of a country chapel. It seemed an appropriate metaphor considering whose ashes were buried there -- author D. H. Lawrence, the "priest of love."
To the left was the tomb of Frieda, the fiery German woman who became his wife and soul mate on their free-spirited adventures traveling around the world. With Frieda, he explored the dee...
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