Monday, November 14, 2011
The crumbling adobe wall whispered hundreds of years of living. Impressed, I gently ran my finger tips across a pink earthen structure and silently asked for understanding. I wished it were possible to know who all had touched the same, who had ducked beneath the low overhang to enter or exit the secret compound of solitude. How could a "place" reek so of peace and harmony? "The City Different" speaks to me in ways that no other place on the planet does. My birth state is a desolate, lonely environment that few appreciate and fewer adore. When I wander the streets, I feel at home; smelling pinyon wood burning in an ancient kiva, I beg to remain. This is where I belong and where one day I will be. Whether alive or no, it matters little. Apart from where your heart dwells, you live life as a spent Aspen leaf, yellowed, tattered and waiting.