On the way to Colorado, we always stop at the same restaurant for lunch. We know the halfway point between where we live and where we are going. (It's a desolate little community on the Navajo reservation.) The dogs run in the same place just south of the Colorado border and I photograph the feral horses just over the border.
But on the drive to where we're going, I knit. It's a meditative hobby, and I've actually made some useable items. (A year ago, when I began knitting, I mostly knit for a while, tore my project apart, and started over. Repeatedly.)
This time, I made Pinto a blanket. The pattern was a basic basket-weave and I chose an oatmeal colored fleck yarn that matched her fur.
Since the blanket came off the needles, I've caught Durango sleeping on it when Pinto's outside. I've now started a waffle pattern blanket for him.
I spoil these dogs terribly.
We've become such creatures of habit. My husband finds peace in driving us to our destination. I find peace in knitting something useful. And the dogs will always sleep on each others blankets.
I love a good storm....the building clouds, the far-away thunder, the feeling of anticipation that comes with the changing weather. The wind blows, the dust flies, and finally, it rains! I wait out the storm in the truck, watching the water roll down the windows, sticking my hand out the open door every so often just to feel the rain in my palm.
And when the storm passes, the air is clean, the dust settled, and the desert plants glow with life. I wander through the sage, smiling at the way the desert comes alive after a cloudburst, smelling the scent of fresh rain on the sagebrush. The dogs hunt lizards. The sun comes out. Nothing else matters.
Some days go by like a flash of lightning, all my thoughts and dreams racing across the sky as I go further, further into the back country, further into the wild, seeking whatever I might find there.
My heart pounds like the hooves of the feral horses that run the fence line. My blood sings like the wind in the barbed wire fence.
And on the other days, life is slow and easy. It's all green meadows in the midst of the desert and long, sunny days watching the clouds go by.
April was over and before I realized it, I was on my way to the adventures that the beginning of May brought. Spring really had come to the desert, and the rain reminded all the drought-beaten plants to burst forth in flower. The rain kept the wild ponies in the lower country, and the rain called me out to play with them.
In the course of a week, I wandered between desert and mountains, ponies and lizards, 80 degree days and cold, wet days.
And I loved it all.