Tonight, live from Taos, it’s blues night on the air. The coyotes add their chorus, the moon sneaks a peek as a curved sliver, and stars twinkle their approval. Streets are quiet and ghosts from muddy plaster slither out to reenact their stories. The mountains hum and golden aspen leaves quake to the slow rhythm and moan of a blues guitar and voice. While the heat recedes and the cool air slides down in its place.
Yeah, this is the place. My place to be.