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Dear Diary,

I'm afraid the rainy season has come and gone and there is nothing left now but to move into cold and dry and sit, listening for that first elk to call.

For the coyotes to welcome the day and usher in the night.

My horse stands unridden for most of this scorching summer but he calls to me. I hear him in my sleep, in my morning coffee, in the ever present sound of munching hay.

It's a feeling I cannot name - appeased by only one thing. There is a trail out there for us.


A camp without traffic or cell signal. A road full of washouts and river rock, ridges and valleys. Framed by mesquites and cactus but solid nonetheless. Most will not follow.

But we will.

The coyotes are loud now, then suddenly quiet again as if they have bested their prey. They are done for tonight.

I see my reflection in the setting sun, the desert's curves, her mountains and mesas. In the roadrunner who stops and looks as if about to speak then runs along without saying a word.

The stars are slow to come out tonight, I think they are scared to be so vulnerable yet again. But the poorwill calls and the crickets chirp.

The elk starts to bugle.

These are the simple things. These are every thing.

And it is time.

Photo credit: Mark Cunningham


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