On Sabbatical

I left the land of freeways and sidewalks, reservoirs and bayous and entered a land of mountains and canyons, draws and washes. I traded flooded swollen rivers for dry streams that thirst for rain. Here the mountains have names and elevations as numerous and different as the people are sparse and eccentric. There are no sprawling subdivisions here, but signs that beckon the hardy, the adventurous, the solitary to buy a piece of this schizophrenic land, beautiful but harsh, its winters bitter, its summers boiling, its storms sudden and violent. And for a little while I walk its dusty trails, climb its mountains, drink in its beauty and dream.