Looking for Home
The Sangre de Cristos I drove to the market yesterday for avocados. It was Thursday before the Memorial Day invasion. The tourist season comes on Harley Davidson motorcycles decked out in their leathers. Supposedly they are "celebrating" a war I marched to end. I usually just hide away in my Black Lake home and try to shut my ears as they roar down Hwy 434. The rest of the tourist season will be quieter but also not welcome. This year I feel like a tourist. I have just returned from exile in neighboring Eagle Nest. I have been an evacuee for 12 days. I have been glad to be back in Black Lake on the land I love but it has not yet felt like home. I feel like a cat on a hot tin roof. Thicke, my cat, has settled in better than me. I stand in my studio and pace trying to figure what to do next. I come up with a plan to unpack this or rearrange that. Move a few things then abandon it. I had planned to go to Taos and stock up with groceries for the invasion, and go by Ace Hardwar...