Mesas

Waking up, slowly but surely, stepping out of the air conditioned cocoon of the bus into the borderline impossible Arizona heat, projected to hit 110 by set time.

The American Southwest is deep and mysterious and challenging and my favorite landscape in the lower forty eight. There’s something about perennial and inhospitable places - whenever I’m in a spiritual deficit, I’ll happily spend weeks at a time lost amongst the mesas.

One of travel’s gifts is a reminder that no one place provides the answers, the truth, or whatever we label that perceived lack within a nebulous sense of otherness.

But movement is soothing, as necessary as water, and in the process of simply endeavoring, the path reveals itself.