Friday, March 23, 2018


Santa Fe can’t help but be beautiful, even in her grief at the end of the day.

The end of my visit.

The doors. 

The doors feel like a boneyard in the low light, and I feel that, too. Ornate - exquisite - evidence of the storms they have held out, the weather they have survived.

(If only I could see the beauty of my own character in the same light.)

Yesterday a friend told me that I’m like Santa Fe in the following ways: quaint, unassuming, vibrant, sweet, savory, and wise.

Ok, then. I’ll take it. Try it on. You can have your perfect beach girls, I’ll proudly be a girl of the desert, with windy hair and freckles.

More beautiful for the storms I’ve weathered.

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