Sunday in El Paso
Another story, the guest towels.
Quick, sidestep down memory lane, dovetails with upcoming images for the next Hallmark Holiday: VD.
The trip I caught the coolest Valentine Image ever, around the turn of the millennia, the desert was blooming. Brilliant shades, the dusty background alive as it was the first time it rained in about three years, wasn’t much water, but the desert blooms. That was the north, northeastern edge of the Chihuahua Desert, stretching from Coahuila, and defining portions of the West Texas geography.
Prior to that, the last time I saw the desert blooming, for real? More than a dozen years before, I was with a Virgo buddy — I was in college (Phoenix, AZ) at the time — and we headed up to Sedona for an afternoon. The lush desert was alive, green, blooming with flowers on top of cactus spines.
As reported to me, that desert bloom only happened once every three years, spring rain in the high desert. After so much time in El Paso, I’m used to the desert, the way there are edges of reality that run into each other, collide, coalesce, then fragment. Should be something about the quality of the light there, Arizona with its red rock canyons, Northern New Mexico with its yellow light.
El Paso with its ochre dust.
High desert — American Southwest — my terrain.
I love it in the American Southwest.
El Paso: one day left.
Carry-on luggage only
In the vastness of the inter-webs, I started getting some material from a feed that was labeled something like, Hand Luggage Only, with an implication that it was travel that was limited to just carry-on only.
Not the zombie or vulture version, carrion-only.
Always worth a shot.
“Traveling light,” as it were.
TransMountain
Saturday morning, coming out of the place for breakfast, the clouds were spilling over the mountains. As if everything east was held back by the hills. The cold, gray clouds were cresting and tumbling down the western flanks of the mountains.
While it’s not the first time, I am amazed, every time.
#ElPaso
