"There are trees in the desert since you moved out."

I'm off to see the city different! Where I will find wizards and bruhas and bruhos.

I will stare up at the milky way, and feel the cool, dew-drenched breeze on my face coming to wash over the dark desert, scorched from its day.

I'll drive up mountain roads and here the babble of brooks.

I'll pass through villages with ancient names.

Pojoaque.
Tajique.

Abiquiu.

I'll spy stellar jays, rufus hummers, and hook-billed thatchers on prickly pear at dusk.

Hook-billed thatcher Sunset, Deming NM, November 2001

The pungent aroma of desert sage will waft over me in the kiva of my dreams. African Greys with crooked necks and lame legs stare out at me, perched in mesquite trees bending in the desert breeze. Lightning is on the darkened horizon and the air is redolent of ozone, rain, and that smell that is only the desert. The greys speak to me, "Be my forever home". Grey dragons morph out of there small bodies to reveal their true, wise, spirit selves. Familiars. Spirit guides. Founts of ancient knowledge, the ways of harmony.

***

I was supposed to depart at 7, It's now 9. But as Mal is fond of saying, "I was compelled to write." I've not been compeled in ages, only writing to document here and there the going ons of my life, a record to later reflect back on.

Mom and dad made me laugh last night, they said not to worry, that they have Gehridelli chocolate chips in the house this time.

Love to you.