Atomic City

Goodbye tamales, and soppapias, and red and green chillies. Goodbye aliens, and ruins, and volcanoes and cheesy chilly ice caves. Goodbye Jackalope, and strange humming noises. Goodbye atomic bombs, and creepy gated cities. Goodbye scary ladders, and huge rocks, and switchback trails down the sheer side of the canyon. Goodbye curious glimmery stars, and lavender, and wild jagged rocks and mountains. Goodbye Indigenous, Native American, Indian peoples, and all your wonderful art and stories. Goodbye El Morro — this week, as last, my best friend.

Hello you. It'll be really nice to see you again. To hold you again. To hear you again. Your voice, which I know better than my own, has been sorely missed. Nothing beats the package in person. The package — if only it could have been here to watch the arroyo fill and the Plaza lights, and the stars over the mountains. And well, for the sex.

But then . . . there's always tomorrow.

Ode of the day: to my dear El Morro. One lonely patch of geologically stunning, historically intriguing, culturally significant, incredibly romantic land. In the middle of nowhere. Waiting.