There it comes! I’d say the leading edge of that is roughly 40 miles away. It’s so cool the way you see the weather in New Mexico before it happens. Gives you time to batten down the hatches, call out the National Guard, or write your will.
A while ago we drove into town. Saturday morning, whatcha gonna do. There was such a strong southwest wind, it blew up a dust storm on the Paseo. All the accumulated fine clay dust from dried-up mud and whatever noxious red-brown salt crap they dump all over the roads went flying through the air. A sight to behold, all right, not what you’d expect on actual pavement! Ah, Taos. The odd thing was, I didn’t mind.
Today I’m not minding a whole lot of stuff. Sure hope the feeling lasts. I don’t even mind my brother blowing his inheritance on speed and going broke and maybe now he’ll lose the house. Live for now, hermano! Oh, right. You did.
I don’t mind the box elder bugs, either. Only in New Mexico can you have bugs inside the house when it’s 20 below outside. The damn things crawl into the rotting window sills to hibernate in the fall, we heat the house up, and they think it’s spring. Every damn day is spring. But I’m getting lots better at pulling them off the windows and washing them down the drain, so I don’t mind, really. And with a new bag in the vacuum cleaner, it was easy to suck up the crushed black bits of little bug bodies from the rug.
Remember how I was sick? I’m fine now, and I even lost more weight, so I don’t mind. I may die tomorrow, broke-dick-motherfucker, but I don’t mind. Death is like a cold front. When it comes, it’s there, and what am I supposed to do about it? And now that I’m all calm and nice, I’ll probably get rich and live forever in spite of myself.
Not that I would mind or anything.
John Hamilton Farr lives in Taos, New Mexico, U.S.A. As New York Times best-selling author James C. Moore tells it, John is “a man attuned to the world who sees it differently than you and I and writes about it with a language and a vision of life that is impossible to ignore.” See .png)
Bwahahahaha . . . Don read this and went into the wheezy laugh where his shoulders move up and down.
Cool! I guess he’s not mad I stole “broke-dick-motherfucker” from him, then.