I've tried in the past to communicate my enduring and often mystifying love of the desert, to little avail. But it's there, implanted and pulsing, seemingly born of the purest form of longing. Intermittently I must - to the exclusion of all else - must return to these roots, though their origins are dubious. There's a part of myself that is married to the wind and the space and the alienness, the lawless possibilities. The way the landscape breathes. The way its story is etched in shadows that are ever changing. The way its inhabitants seem like intruders but also pioneers.
I can scarcely think of anything in which I find more joy than exploration of the unknown - and all the better if it's a wild unknown.