Sometimes you must ride through the bones of the past to see the pure sparkling brilliance of the future. It seems such a simple thing, yet so difficult.
I took flight today, unplanned. I needed it without knowing. My body knew, my mind had more trouble getting there - and now, one hour into this three-hour drive, breathing comes slower.
At Horsehead Crossing on the Pecos River the problems of everyday life seem insignificant, put in their proper place by those who came before. There is an event here this weekend, to commemorate the landmark, once the first reliable source of water for those traveling east to west, and maybe the only safe crossing in Texas where the Pecos tends to favor sharp canyons over gentle embankments. Whether it will give it justice or not I won’t know, because I came here early to be alone.
So I sit, feet up, hands behind head, listening to the jingle of a flagpole and the grinding of molars - vocals against the distant purr of a generator. The night sky plays above, slotted between the down window of a horse trailer and the pipe fencing of a pen as if I were deep in some tall canyon. A shooting star rides off into the western sky.
This is what I needed.
To be with the energy of the past. To ride the same ground as bare feet and moccasins, boots and spurs, wagon wheels and hooves of years past.
I can hear them now. The murmur of camp, Comanche resting before riding on to Mexico. Cattle lowing, crying out for something they know not of. The yips and yaws of cowboys pushing their herd through the ford. The jingle of a stagecoach coming to rest and the slap of leather as another takes flight on the western side.
I am alone but not alone.
How long did they wander this course before finding their way across such an unwieldy and unpredictable power, no upward dams to throttle her 150 years ago. The waters of the Rio Pecos are mixed with bloodshed and blessedness and marked by bones – the ground remembers.
But like the ashes strewn about the earth, for a moment I am a part of it all. As if I too might carry the dust and determination home with me, drawing on silence and solitude like a healing cloak.
Burying my face in the thickness of it all. Knowing our purpose is to do more than just survive.
I trace the outline of Castle Mountains, silhouetted against a pincushion of stars, close my eyes and replay a tickertape of deserts and mountains, wildflowers and rocky grounds, hidden streams and meadows, a rocket arcing across the night.
Each place is a song I can’t forget. The touch of a first love lingering. The wetness of a first kiss. And inevitably, I crave it again and again and again.
Note: Although Horsehead Crossing is open to the public, it is not a trail system or intended for equestrian use outside of the organized event mentioned above.
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