Part II of a III Part Series By Abel M. Salas Photo by Estevan Oriol Sometime near midnight, the two-lane highway in the middle of Wyoming is shrouded in a ghostly dark. Four of us are traveling in a pair of import pick-ups loaded with winter clothing, medical supplies, non-perishable food, sleeping bags, tarps and more. Standing Rock, North Dakota looms like a mythical destination still roughly 12 hours away.  In the distance, a field of tiny red lights flash on and off in rhythmic synchronization with each set of lights arranged along a vertical axis. I imagine they are radio antennas at first. When our route brings us closer to the low rolling hills where they stand, it dawns on me, finally, that they are beacons affixed to the upright columns which support an armada of wind turbines. Maybe they twinkle with a regularity that says there is enough winter wind in these wide-open Wyoming prairies to generate a steady flow of electricity. Or perhaps they are simply meant to a...

L.-r.: Jim Fisher, Armando Valdes, Aura Vasquez, Abel Salas and Armando Telles at Fisher's Culver City home to load supplies. PART ONE OF A SERIES by Abel M. Salas I had no idea how I would get there, but I knew I needed to be in North Dakota. Unforeseen, a visceral tug had alerted me loudly, telling me to make a move and do it soon enough to see the sky over Standing Rock by Thanksgiving Day. It was imperative, a manda I could not escape. Before Día de los Muertos, I’d begun mulling over the irony of celebrating a holiday inspired by the Mayflower pilgrims while the Lakota Sioux water protectors and their allies engaged in peaceful prayer were being shot with rubber bullets, attacked with dogs, tear-gassed and sprayed with cold water in sub-freezing temperatures. But I suddenly felt compelled, guided by unseen hands, toward the Oceti Sakowin camp. Yes, it is true that I was, by early November, already considering how to capture the ironic nature of the harvest celebr...