From what we could see between the trees behind the pigeon houses at Mabel’s, all signs indicated an amazing sunset was afoot. With little time to spare but our ability to expand it in our back pockets, we took our chances and launched ourselves down the highway. Stop here? Nope. Here? Hurry! How about here? Back out. Further south. Such was this a metaphor for life, we can only know where when we get there.
We stealthily tucked ourselves into the dusty entrance of the abandoned Stakeout just as the horizon caught fire. Passing cars pierced our ears like screeching jets, but then the reward of stone silence. Between us and this sunset, amongst the darkening brush, disappeared the dangerous abyss of the Rio Grande Gorge, melting into a boundariless blanket of moonless black.
It’s not just witnessing the sunset along an unobstructed desert horizon that will change you, but having the fortitude to stick around and behold the aftermath of it. The light fades. The colors mute. But the subtle beauty of what remains will hang in the air with the scent of sage every bit as long as you are willing to stick around for it. Nothing ever goes to waste.