I was sitting in a little dive bar, day-drinking gin & tonics and day-dreaming about adventure.
We were talking about the places we wanted to travel to.
"Texas", I said.
His Texan eyes rolled. "There is nothing to see there but oil fields and dust."
Which was precisely why I wanted to go.
Wide open spaces. Never-ending skies. Desert. Dirt. Blistered roads. Prickly vegetation.
Room. To. Breathe.
Because I had been doing none of that **breathing** at the time. I was running an old life out of my bones with late nights and boozy days and music so loud my ears would ring from Saturday to Wednesday. I had no idea who I was and I did not care.
But I knew that one day I wanted to land in Texas. If, for nothing else, but to drive down lost highways and watch the dust kick up and just be still.
Two years later...
And one of my best gals relocated there. Her, on a mission to discover and stretch and heal and evolve. Because it seems that those oil-drenched soils pull at the hearts of poets and wanderlusters, alike.
So there was my cue to buy a ticket.
We chased each other out of Austin for a weekend in Marfa to celebrate birthdays and new beginnings and love and friendships and coffee.
This is West Texas, my friends.
Everything is sun-bleached and cracked dry. Where life comes alive at dusk with sunsets that melt into everlasting hues of deep oranges and pinks. Where the town is perpetually sleepy, even on a busy long weekend, and the locals believe in the magic that is the mystery of those Marfa lights.
We flirted with lazy dust tornados and let the art guide us through the modern architecture that is distinct to Marfa.
We went to the tops of mountains, the approaching wind storm licking at our wild hairs. Views that melted me into myself and I immediately vowed to return (Hello, 2018 road trip). And I breathed the kind of breath that was ecstatic and affirming. I watched my gal stretch out her arms to catch her own freedom.
And when we left, this time following each other east towards the rising sun, we were gifted with a landscape that was so stunning, I could not help myself from pulling over and running down TX-17, also known as Wild Rose Pass, laughing and shouting at the beauty of it all.
** title of post, quote by Davy Crockett