Smitten. Home.

29 Jan

I am a creature of my surroundings. Like most animals, I must live in a place that feeds my senses, my appetite, and my soul. Since recently losing one such place where part of me is still buried, I have waited, like a restrained cat waiting to pounce, for that place that captivates me. I think I have found it. Only time will tell now if it is to be.

Pan view east and southeast

It seems an almost perfect marriage between the realist, the scientist,  and the sensory organism that I am. It has wonderful southern and eastern exposures and views, protection from the north and partially from the west. It feeds into my longing for both desert and mountains, for it is at the south-eastern base of a mountain. And the views in all directions contain mountains: the Christmas and Chisos Mountains, now closer than ever before. The Sierra del Carmen’s loom in the background; Rattlesnake Ridge nods a neighborly ‘Hello’, and, I sit at the skirts of Whitehouse Mountain, both now and hopefully  in the future.

Pan view south and SW.

The site is barely a mile and 1/2 from the boundary of the Big Bend National Park. Below is the watershed of Tornillo Creek, that which teems with natural and cultural history as it flows east and south to the Rio del Norte. This is the land of volcanic voices; rich with red and brown granite and basalt. Volcanic plugs and dikes, uplifts and rifts. I love the conversation and the myriad of geological history here, so vastly different from the limestone and bentonite endless stretches. Here, there is abundant life: birds, mammals, insects, plants, and even a diversity of people from all backgrounds.

This area is alive with color, depth and life. It sings to me in the mornings, hoots in the evenings, and glitters with stars that blanket the mountain sides with no human distraction. Instead of viewing the mountains through binoculars, now I am in them, aside them, in love with them. I sit at their skirts and they teach me; cocoon me like a baby at night. Here I am alive, young as the oldest rock and as old as the stardust that covers us.

I have a new Home. And, in the near future, I will plant my roots amongst the pumice stone. I will let the mountains soothe me. And welcome me back no matter how far or how long I should roam.

I am their child.

North: Whitehouse Mountain


2 Responses to “Smitten. Home.”

  1. Dragnfli January 29, 2014 at 9:35 pm #

    And little by little, unsuspecting, the parts of you that were at the other place will migrate to your new home leaving only memories behind.

  2. Macrobe January 29, 2014 at 9:52 pm #

    I like that. And you may be right. But part of me will always be left there behind. Too many years; too much of me invested.
    Regardless, the coyote follows me. The place already has a name: Coyote Matto. 😀

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