This is what it keeps looking like out here.
I can’t help how it does.
I’m just reporting.
We’re out in the desert again like we like. Quiet and spare. Neighbors, sure, at a neighborly distance. But lots of space still. No one managing anything, no one saying what can or can’t be done. No one saying come or go. No one to pay for staying here.
Just some sand and rocks. Ocotillos and creosote bushes and a big, gaudy sky. Last night we went to El Borrego for dollar taco night and had fish and carne asada and carnitas tacos. I had a Pacifico to wash them down. Before that we hiked up the hills behind us and looked down on our encampment. Looked at some stone sculptures left up there, a snake of rocks and a labyrinth and some other odds and ends. A lobster. A big horn sheep.
What did we do today. Our neighbor Vince gifted us with a fly rod and some reels and taught us to cast out in the sand.
That’s something right there. I can see into a hazy, not to distant future where I’m hip-deep in a river in late golden light with a swarm of just-hatched mayflies hanging over the water and a big smile on my face. I can see that pretty good. Something muscular and swift moving under the water. Something in my heart, something in my throat. Like a song. Like that.
In a couple of days we’ll get on the heavier than air flying machine and be whisked across this big country to a big city where wonders await us. Family and new friends and big adventures. Meanwhile here the day turns to darkness and the silence only deepens. It is supposed to rain and we’ll probably fall asleep in our silver cocoon with the sound of rain on the metal skin like a million tiny drumbeats, like the beating of numberless tiny hearts.