Desert Days.

I ask how the coffee is? as always he replies “its hot and black”. This old man looks like he could be a character out of a 1960s TV show, only it’s 2019 and he’s working at a gas station with actual analog metal gas pumps still in function. This is where I choose to get my fuel even though it’s 20 cents more per gallon. It’s worth it for the friendly slow smiles of a time gone by. Hell these people still offer you matches when you buy your smokes.

Heading out of town to find another new hot spring. A place kept not by reservation but simply by the remoteness. Every time I visit one of these hidden gems there is a sense of reverence for what the earth is giving. Magical.

Strip down to nothing. Nothing. So much of that out here. No trees, no sounds, no movement, nothing….nothing has a different meaning, so much everything. I simply cannot explain.

Quiet, at first you hear just your breath and then this high pitched sound of silence, deafening how loud the silence starts to ring down in your ears. Your breath becomes your friend, you’ve conversations about the sun touching your skin and things of this nature.

I enjoy this sort of “nothing”. The high desert is my home. It’s abrasive nature that gives nothing without warrant speaks to my very existence. So together we sit in silence, close my eyes, sunlight burning through them and I swear I can sink into time itself. Swear I was never really here….take comfort in the grains of sand. One day I’ll too blow around out here for eternity too. Dust caught between ancient mountain peaks with a view. I’ll make damn sure of it.