where the writers are
Mountain Air

Mountainair - New Mexico

Clouds ride the horizon – soft rain, overcast – perfect weather for a whole day’s ride. The expanse, the space all around and above, the smell of dry earth drinking, makes me drunk. Happiness is being on the road – moving through vastness and chronology and thus sharing dreams and time.

Mountainair, the air is thin, the streets wide as boulevards – 37 steps of asphalt are needed to cross the road. Probably because the teams of horses and wagons need this space to turn. Yet the houses also sit on large plots. Buildings in native stone, the city hall and court house in adobe. This is New Mexico with the omnipresent murals, the gay colors and Indian symbols. Was it fear of the void that made people take up more space than needed or just a future vision, a hope abandoned by the wayside? Feel the excitement of what could have been, still could be, tinged with melancholy of dreams lost, hopes crushed. Yet it all reflects the grandeur of the mountain and the lofty purity of air.

Dreams may not have been fulfilled. There might not be enough nourishment only sparseness of emotions mistaken for tranquil serenity.

The road takes us by byways, lightning, parading dark cloud horses, wind and rain. Heavy rain washes away all surplus of the soul. Fortified, a rainbow ends the day filled with dappled mountains, the grandness of muddy rivers, a lone tree on a knoll, gullies and rushing, roaring washes. Thus we drive under the arch of lightning and come out purified by the fire of beauty and by powerful forces and are fearless on a New Mexico road surrounded by life, pure and simple. And then life becomes another road and another…