life springs eternal. the land between las cruces and silver city is that of my favorite variety. high desert. mesas and rocas and creosote. the unabashed blue. the art of subtlety. something i have yet to master. and not to mention the sun (oh. my. love.).
over the course of the past couple of weeks on the road, i’ve been without cruise control and stewing on the associated metaphors. can’t say that i’ve come up with anything brilliant- save for the ‘of your own volition’ mantra. there is no button to set your speed. every decision has impact. the weight of your soul. pressure on the pedal. no resting on your laurels knowing you’ll hold steady at 75. these are the days of this: we must learn to reawaken and to keep ourselves awake, not by mechanical aid, but by infinite expectation of the dawn. thoreau. and so on to what’s next. gila. with chaparral in the blood, sage on inspiration.
|the t100. looking stoic.|
|las cruces in the lowlands. organ mountains behind.|
|rule of thirds.|
|bluffs to preface silver city.|