The top of San Antonio Mountain, at 10,912 ft (3,326 m) one monster of a volcanic peak, is about 43.5 miles as the raven croaks from where I stood to take this picture. That would be the top of the driveway, so I guess I can’t complain.
Well, I could. It’s in my nature. The people at the single-wide at the top of the hill were out of it and playing with their trucks a while ago. Maybe it was only one truck, revving. Hard to tell over all the yelling. Sounds of action, gravel crunching. Arguing, blubbering, slamming shit. Reminds me of me childhood, except for the shots, if that’s what they were. Probably just someone banging holes in aluminum with a heavy metal object. Nobody screamed, anyway, so. About 10:30 p.m. now.
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)
So profoundly removed and unreachable by all that human commotion.
They have a better view than I do. 🙂