Another candid critter shot from the empty road between Cimarron and Rayado! Looks like this male is shedding his winter coat. I still don’t understand about the horns—just when they shed the outer covering—but you can see them fine here. The female version lacks the upward-turning point. It may not look it, but these are the fastest land mammals in the Western hemisphere. The official New Mexico state animal is the black bear (think Smokey), but you may never see one. These guys, on the other hand, are everywhere out on the plains.
I think I want to be that deer »Buy This Photo!«
Oh man, Rayado. There are some buildings there, but this is pretty much it. You never saw a quieter place. I’d live somewhere around there if I could—feels like a fine location to write a dozen novels. Maybe two dozen. We drove past this resting mule deer on the way back to Cimarron—hey, did I see what I thought I saw?—and I decided to go back and take a picture. For that, I had to let the car roll backwards down a hill about a hundred yards—my wife was great and didn’t say a thing—and the doe was still there in the shade. No, of course there wasn’t any traffic. I mean, like none. Zero. No one. Nothing. For some reason, this impresses me. The peacefulness is so damned thick, you want to keep your voice down. And to think Kit Carson lived here once! I’ll bet it wasn’t half as nice back then.
I think these are females. Both sexes shed their horns. »Buy This Photo!«
The pronghorns are here because you’re not. We sat parked by the side of the road for for about ten minutes, watching. Not another car came by. That’s the way it is in northeast New Mexico. Being close to wild animals like this is such a privilege. It’s more than the beasts, though. I told my wife, “The air, the sunlight, the animals, everything—I just don’t want to leave!” And hoo boy, was it quiet…
I could sit around and worry about tomorrow, like that would fix a thing, imagining all the ugly stuff that may or may not happen growing older in a broken world that doesn’t seem to give a damn. I often have, of course. But sitting there beside the road, staring into the eyes of that wild energy in this time and space, the lie of separation dies. We used to live back East, where all the rest I needed lay right by my fingertips. Now here we are, where no one will take care of me, and everything but God is far away.
Pronghorns (antelope) on the old Santa Fe Trail »Buy This Photo!«
Oh my god yes. I’m driving and shouting about the vistas. There is almost no one with us on this highway. The open space is so exhilarating. It’s not too hot and not too cold. The air is indescribable but you want it. To be a part of this!
About halfway between Cimarron and Rayado, it opens up and soars. I suppose we’re looking at someone’s ranch, but never mind. I mainly see the Earth. The peace and reassurance are overwhelming. My joy and satisfaction are complete. There’s nothing more to say or ask. This is what we’re given, mind you. Everybody wins the lotto. Most of us forget.
The road I shot that from follows the original Santa Fe Trail, which blows my mind. It must have looked much the same almost two hundred years ago, except for buffalo herds and wolves and different grasses.
Taos Mountain in early morning light, 5-15-2015 »Buy This Photo!«
It feels like a turning point of some kind. After all, snow on the mountain is spring with a bullwhip! (That’s the only good line you’re getting out of me tonight, it’s just too late.) Also, I told the truth all neat and clean for once. Not only did I not get killed, but true life stuff came busting out all over—how is it we can be so blind and lucky at the same time? “You can do anything you want,” she said, leaning close to stretch out every word, “and I’ll support it…”
Okay, I can live with this. Apparently I always have.
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