On the back roads, find secrets and take in the sky

The back roads are dusty gravel, traversed by washboards formed when impatient travelers hurry by to gape at the dark gray and deep green purple cliffs peppered with jade and emerald juniper sagebrush.

They drive too fast in their haste to be somewhere, anywhere, but instead find themselves on a remote road that ultimately dead ends. From there, they could hike a rocky trail that leads to the top of a mesa where they could gape in wonder at the spectacular multihued vistas.

The dusty ones know the rewards, but others shudder at the mere thought of venturing forth under the Southwestern sun, only to huff and puff and sweat and bitch and stumble their way back to their cars. After walking only a quarter-mile, they rush to the nearest watering hole for a drink and maybe to catch talking heads blathering inane opinions on the TV over the bar.

There are secrets here, and artists, and old dudes still banging guitar chords on the corners, while occasionally puffing out a few Dylanesque harmonica blasts. There are faded beauties who have gained wealth through their own designs or from past husbands and are now living above the city in adobe compounds with iron gates. There are retired celebrities with millions who have had enough of the constraints on their time. There are volcanoes near the city that still broil and agitate deep below the surface. There are thousands of signs and symbols scraped in the dark patina of rocks that were spewed from the earth thousands of years ago that still speak to the Navajo who know them as sacred connections to their ancestors. There are people who cut rock, cast bronze, paint canvases of ghostly figures, then throw splashes of brilliant colors on their canvases depicting the movement and reflections of galloping horses and rushing skies. There are craggy faces that smile under wide-brimmed straw hats, sell stones and wood and furniture, weave rugs with ancient patterns, and speak knowingly about the desert’s plants and animals. There are some who love the horse with its noble bearing, a noble animal that is willing to do things for you that even your closest and dearest friend would not.

Yesterday a storm cracked and then split apart the Santa Fe sky like a curtain. It all turned orange for a spell, then the light pushed its way through the low clouds and painted its edges with a gold so bright that when the huge rainbow appeared, it completed a tableau that erased whatever thought or concern you might have had in an instant.

I had to pull the car over and just stared until it all faded into deep purple.