From “A Vast Sky”

I was nine when we moved from southeast Texas to Albuquerque, New Mexico and our house was on the last street with a back fence serving as the only separation between our new lawn from the desolate sea of sand, scrubby sage, and tumbleweeds creeping up the foothills. The place looked like a giant fire had swept through leaving only a landscape with scrubby bushes and scant grass. I had never experienced an empty wild place like this. Before we moved, my wild place had been The Big Thicket outside of Houston Texas. Understandably, the first time I wandered into the mesa, I was overcome with grief, mourning the loss of my forest kingdom where I climbed trees, built forts, picked wildflowers, and gathered berries. I mourned my friends we left behind in Texas. That late summer afternoon, was the first time I remember finding comfort in that empty mesa. I didn’t recognize the solace I felt that day until decades after we left New Mexico and the mesa started showing up in my dreams.