There's something about a mesa
I've gotten used to the idea of spending summer vacation in the high desert. When the weather gets hot and muggy here, I find myself thinking about the desiccating heat of New Mexico, its barren landscape, striated rock formations punctuated by an occasional sprig of green, and a place called Ghost Ranch. There's something relaxing about the mesas. I sit and stare at them for hours. There's something cleansing about the sandy, pebbled terrain from which they rise, something that allows me to forget the meaningless routine of much of my daily existence. routine. Allowing the tenderly abrasive landscape to rub away the material surface, I am again exposed to the Spirit beneath.