Second Field Expedition

I have one pair of turquoise earrings.

Their oval stones are set inside of dangling silver molded to look like feathers or half moons or waves. They were a gift from my grandmother the day I accepted The University of New Mexico’s offer.

On Sunday morning after coffee and fried eggs, I put them on.

I left my turquoise house and got into my turquoise car to drive State Road 14 from Tijeras to Santa Fe or as it is sometimes known--- the Turquoise Trail.

I hardly ever drive anymore. My car literally collects dust but it’s an old Jaguar who rides low and really purrs on long fast drives where it can finally stretch out its legs like it was built to do. It was good to take it out.

So we (my car and I) traveled through Cedar Crest, Sandia Park, San Antonito, Golden, Madrid, Cerrillos, San Marcos and finally to that place of Holy Faith.

Much to the irritation of passing cars, I took a lot of photos from the side of the road. I suppose if you drive the Turquoise Trail often you become numb and don’t feel the need to photograph the way our New Mexican landscapes opens up and reveals itself.

I’m not, however, going to post them because none of them do special justice to the light and scene. When I tell you it was beautiful, I’m sure you know what I mean. You've undoubtedly been there.

There is something lonely about southwestern landscapes. Lost in the empty skies, subtle coloring, and a certain innate brutality, I felt like the only person on earth.

But I suspect everyone who has ever found themselves along the Turquoise Trail-- native peoples, Spanish missionaries, outlaws, Confederate soldiers, and even Kit Carson himself-- felt this same lonesomeness that comes from being so exposed and alone with your thoughts.