We set out on the back roads, crossing the Great Wide Open.
Oh New Mexico. She looks like nothing much, but is everything.
Pick a road, and it will take you beyond where you thought there was to go. So we just kept going.
80 miles of dirt road, skirting mountains that look like smudges from the distance, but are filled with hidden mountain things. Crossing in and over, around.
Some folks say they prefer a place colored green. I say, I’ll take this glory.
I’ll take these long hidden roads, and the places they lead to.
I’ll find my way with the ragged map, the poems that tell old stories, the brightly dressed children like flowers in the dry land. 
We’ll make camp far from anywhere. Call the long grasses, the stone crags, the dark mountains and thirsty junipers home.
For it is.
Kyce Bello 
