The desert is a complex creature, shaded by mood and nuance. Part zen, part hitman--you'd better go out there knowing you're at the whim of its caprice.
Today it was zen.
Lately I've been out here on my bike. No, that is not me rounding the bend. That is a guy and furthermore, I ride side-saddle.
There's something about riding a bike. It's like the ultimate time machine. I'm sure I look exactly what I am--a genteel lady of a certain age--but in my mind I feel like a ten year old girl, all knees and elbows, pedalling ferociously, braids in flight. And my mind is completely free.
Plus, there's all sorts of interesting characters along the way. I rescued this fine fellow the other day. He was not especially pleased by my help, but those on the verge of becoming snake pancake are hardly in a position to discriminate. I spoke to him in my best Parseltongue, but he sniffed and said I had a Canadian accent.
I also saw three tarantulas, but they did not appear in need of assistance and I must say I'd be hard pressed to offer it even if they did. I think we are all familiar with a spider's propensity to leap ten feet in the air and suck off your face. I mean, there are urban legends and then there are cold, hard facts.
People often talk about the energy of a place. There is good energy in the desert. Especially when it's not in the mood to annihilate you.
I always leave here feeling tired, bemused, grounded, processed, distant, connected, dreamy, lighter, happy...and grateful to be alive. What do they call that again? A natural high?
Desert, je t'aime. Especially at this time of year.