I was driving down the road and had to stop. Right in front of the worst beat-up trailer you’ve ever seen, in fact. The latilla fencing is reinforced with rusting sheets of corrugated metal. There’s nothing in the yard but rocks, an old car seat, and busted children’s toys. But when they open their front door, this is what they see! Or do they?
You’re looking south here. There’s a spur of the original Camino Real up there in those mountains. The royal road. It might still take you down to Santa Fe if you could find it. In the old days—like before the Pilgrims landed—it went all the way to Mexico City. So much for Anglo bullshit then, but never mind.
When I see things like this, I want to pray or dance. (To hell with churches, just make everybody sit outside.) It’s the depth and scale that kills me, and the felt if unseen veil of softness on the crags.