Closer to the mountain. Higher in elevation that my mesa. The next mesa is covered with winding dirt roads, pinon forests, a little snow in the darkest shadows, and best of all, old homesteads.
My favorite homestead was built on the edge of the mesa at the Y in the road. One road leads to the high desert bean fields, the other to the wild rim that overlooks a deep canyon.
But the homestead itself is a gentle place, with small reminders of its past. There's an old apple orchard behind the house and I was witness to a fox in the orchard on that late afternoon.
Pieces of colored glass, old china, and potshards lay in the dirt, undisturbed for years.
This old place has a calming effect, almost reflective. I stop and wonder, why did the owners leave?
I would have stayed right there forever, friends with the fox, the wild mesa, and the remnants of the curtain in the window of the front door.