Perspectives

The road bends, and the Sangre de Cristo Mountains come into view, rising above the high desert. The air smells faintly of piñon and juniper. Ravens drift across the enormous blue sky. And then there is the light—that unmistakable New Mexico light that somehow makes every color richer and every shadow more alive. Every time I return to northern New Mexico, I have the same thought: I'm home. It has never made logical sense to me. I didn't grow up there. I've never lived there.