What the Desert Asks
It’s dark still. Quiet, the way the desert gets quiet. I’m on the patio with a cup of coffee. Coyotes out past the wash, working something out. Other things moving too. They who own this land at night and hand it back at dawn. I don’t turn on a light. It’s the best hour. I’ve learned not to touch it.
I grew up in the north. Mountains, pine trees, cold winters. Good country. But it never held me. The desert does.
The desert is my home.
It doesn’t soften up to be liked. It’s rough, dry, and old. You meet it on its terms, or you leave. It’s not for everyone. The ones who stay are cut from the same rock. Real men and women. The kind this country ran on and forgot it still needs.
Not much has changed here in a hundred years. That’s not an accident.
Most mornings horse’s walk past the house. Neighbor in the saddle. People here still wave. They still stop. Small-town America isn’t a memory out here. It’s Tuesday.
Flag on nearly every porch. Behind a lot of those doors are men and women who know what the flag cost. They paid part of the bill.
Those have always been my people. The veterans. The ones who stood up when standing up was the hard thing.
We talk about freedom like it’s easy. Something that just happens to us. It isn’t. It has a price, and the same small fraction has always paid it. The one percent who didn’t just believe in something. They did something about it. I’ve spent my life wanting to be near them. I worked with lots of them. They carry a quiet you can’t fake. They already know what things cost.
That’s what this place gave me. The climate that suits my bones. The country that suits my eye. The people who suit my spirit. I didn’t drift here. I chose it. There’s a peace in choosing your place.
So here’s my point for this week, wherever you are. Find your version of this. Maybe it’s not a desert. Maybe its a coastline, a farm town, or a city block that feels like home. Find the place and you’ll find your people. America has it all.
Build a life you love. The one you chose, not the one you drifted into. Share it with the right person. Raise a family, if that’s your thing. Whatever you choose, make sure you enjoy it your way.
The coyotes have gone quiet. The heat will be up soon. But for one more minute it’s just me and the desert. That’s enough.
—B