Post by goldenmyst on May 22, 2019 20:53:08 GMT -6
Arc of a Romance
My hands grip the wheel with religious fervor. The morning miles take my beloved and I deeper into the land of enchantment where mesas rise like tables upon which our feast of beauty is to begin.
Marsha takes her window down and leans her head into the wind making her hair scatter in the breeze. She smiles as we veer off the main stretch onto the back roads. Our junket takes us through ancient Spanish towns. In Mora, a group of men pushes a car across the road and us onlookers gaze in wonder on our pause. The jalopy yields to their strength as it rolls to its destination at the repair shop across the highway.
Marsha says, “Love where your inner map is taking us.”
I reply, “You are the muse for my poem in motion.”
We dip and swerve into unexpected vistas. Having left the desert mesas we find ourselves in a land of green slopes gentle as a woman’s touch. Soon we follow a roaring river upward and onward into lodgepole pines where the water takes us to its source. My head pounds with the ache of a migraine but with the dawning reality of altitude sickness. I ask, “Marsha, is your head hurting?”
She nods, “Yes.”
I take the driver’s seat once more but am soon to abdicate my throne. We follow the highway into snowy hills on our alpine trek. We cross the ridge into Taos where my nauseous head swims in a sea of pain. And so the time has come for Marsha to lead this expedition. I tell her to find a motel. She drives our chariot and lands us at an adobe lodging with earthen pathways. There I acclimate to the altitude until after two days I emerge into the sunshine. I drive us up into a canyon above the town. There we pitch a tent and settle into our new rhythms. After lunch, we explore our new zone of reality. We climb the mountainside and discover a cave with a slab of ice.
The next day we put on our hiking shoes and ascend the opposite wall of our canyon. This serpentine path takes us zig-zagging on a dry trail until we encounter a man with a llama. We decide this is the highlight of this hike and descend on our dusty footwear back to the campsite.
We pack up and head back to Taos for a tour. We are late but a Native guide drives us to catch up with the group. Marsha tells him, “Your state is so beautiful.”
He replies, “Yours is too.”
Marsha replies, “Have you ever been to Louisiana?”
He answers, “I drove a truck through there.”
Marsha poses by adobe churches for my camera with a smile which tells me her closeness to nature will be nourished by these memories even if we part. And so we take the road home like vagabonds on the streets of El Dorado.
My hands grip the wheel with religious fervor. The morning miles take my beloved and I deeper into the land of enchantment where mesas rise like tables upon which our feast of beauty is to begin.
Marsha takes her window down and leans her head into the wind making her hair scatter in the breeze. She smiles as we veer off the main stretch onto the back roads. Our junket takes us through ancient Spanish towns. In Mora, a group of men pushes a car across the road and us onlookers gaze in wonder on our pause. The jalopy yields to their strength as it rolls to its destination at the repair shop across the highway.
Marsha says, “Love where your inner map is taking us.”
I reply, “You are the muse for my poem in motion.”
We dip and swerve into unexpected vistas. Having left the desert mesas we find ourselves in a land of green slopes gentle as a woman’s touch. Soon we follow a roaring river upward and onward into lodgepole pines where the water takes us to its source. My head pounds with the ache of a migraine but with the dawning reality of altitude sickness. I ask, “Marsha, is your head hurting?”
She nods, “Yes.”
I take the driver’s seat once more but am soon to abdicate my throne. We follow the highway into snowy hills on our alpine trek. We cross the ridge into Taos where my nauseous head swims in a sea of pain. And so the time has come for Marsha to lead this expedition. I tell her to find a motel. She drives our chariot and lands us at an adobe lodging with earthen pathways. There I acclimate to the altitude until after two days I emerge into the sunshine. I drive us up into a canyon above the town. There we pitch a tent and settle into our new rhythms. After lunch, we explore our new zone of reality. We climb the mountainside and discover a cave with a slab of ice.
The next day we put on our hiking shoes and ascend the opposite wall of our canyon. This serpentine path takes us zig-zagging on a dry trail until we encounter a man with a llama. We decide this is the highlight of this hike and descend on our dusty footwear back to the campsite.
We pack up and head back to Taos for a tour. We are late but a Native guide drives us to catch up with the group. Marsha tells him, “Your state is so beautiful.”
He replies, “Yours is too.”
Marsha replies, “Have you ever been to Louisiana?”
He answers, “I drove a truck through there.”
Marsha poses by adobe churches for my camera with a smile which tells me her closeness to nature will be nourished by these memories even if we part. And so we take the road home like vagabonds on the streets of El Dorado.
xoxoxo John