Sunset: 5:52pm. A waning crescent moon on Halloween with a high of 64 degrees. I think I’ve had enough input. Enough inspiration.
Twentynine Palms. Sunset: 6:00pm. I heard about a woman who can tell you the future by deciphering the contrails of experimental military aircraft.
Mojave desert. Sunset: 6:02pm. A quiet day in the desert spent watching the shadows of the Joshua trees grow.
Mojave desert. Sunset: 6:00pm. There’s a full moon tonight, and we pulled over to watch it rise.
Phoenix. Sunset: 5:48pm. After looping through its grids for a solid two hours without feeling like the scenery had changed, we checked into a Ballardian hotel along the interstate.
Las Vegas. Sunset: 6:01pm. Shocking skies with a high of 83 and a low of 50 degrees.
An otherworldly landscape of alkaline and soda towers surrounded flat waters without a single ripple.
“I will create a world from the past,” she said, and she painted an audience on the walls and danced for them every Saturday night.
“Everything’s a mystery and I’m just another small part of it,” said a woman at a gas station in Barstow.
It’s becoming a nightly habit: scrolling through desert scenery while fantasizing about horizons, speed, and possibilities.
And so much space there’s nothing to think about except something resembling god.
Tonight I crave the cadence of the desert. Groom Lake. Chocolate Mountain Gunnery Range. Devil’s Hole. Epic names that speak of salvation and redemption.
