Here We Are

Ranchos de Taos scene

Great big truck o’ gas beside the Ranchos church one lovely afternoon

There must be all kinds of ways to do this. Fortunately the unconscious never quits.

This time I was walking with my wife through the hall of a large building like a college dorm except with wider corridors and clean white walls. There was some kind of event and we were staying there. The hall was full of people were making their way in both directions with a sense of expectation. I was glad to see a friend of ours among them and said hello. She was dressed in white the way she often is in real life, happy, friendly, and we joked about her room that we’d just walked by on the floor below. They’ve got me in the (something-something-basement) room, she said. Then somehow I was there again alone outside the open door. There was no one in the hall. I went inside. The room was one large kitchen with counters and a sink, a big refrigerator, and a stove with eggs in butter cooking slowly in a little pan. I wondered where the cook was and whether it would burn. The place was packed with food. There were large plastic bags of different kinds of fruit sitting on the counter. One in particular held a huge amount of little peaches turning soft but still quite edible. They gave off a pleasant scent. I worried that there were so many and wondered who would eat them.

I woke up full of fear about no money. It was 4:18 a.m. and there was nothing I could do to break the mood except get up and move around or write. Now the clock has just chimed five and I’ll go back to bed. The outline of the mountains to the east is black and sharp against the inkling of the dawn.

Afterdream, 7:43 a.m.: An extremely vivid dream. I was driving in New Mexico (of course), on an almost empty Interstate cresting the top of a large hill in bright sunlight. To my right and just ahead of me was a low wide open sports car in the on-ramp. At the top of the hill it pulled away from me and I could see it was a Viper but completely chromed except for red and yellow accents by the cockpit. I loved the sight of it and heard the V-10 rumble like exploding bombs inside a can.

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John Hamilton Farr lives at 7,000 feet in Ranchos de 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.” This JHFARR.COM site is the master writing archive. To email John, please see CONTACT INFO on About page. For a complete list of all John’s writing, photography, NFTs, and social media links, please visit JHFARR.ART  



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