This morning as I looked out the window of our motel room, several hot air balloons floated across the skyline, rising and then gradually returning to earth, landing in a recently plowed cotton field. The brightly colored balloons looked like polka dots in the sky. I took at least a dozen pictures, but nothing could capture what I was seeing with my eyes. The night before, I was equally transfixed at the window as the sun slipped behind the mountain leaving a stunning display of color behind.
There's something about desert skies that is mesmerizing. The sunrises and sunsets seem to go on forever, continually changing as one color seeps into another, spilling onto an empty canvas of blue sky. I know I’m not the only one to feel this way. For ages, western skies have stirred the muse of artists—inspiring them to attempt to recreate the magic with a paintbrush or pen.
I’ve loved the Southwest for as long as I can remember—the old adobe churches, the graveyards, the dramatic skies, the cholla, the lizards, the colors, the food, the culture, the art, and the stories of its past. A high school trip to New Mexico was key in planting seeds for what has become a lifelong desire to come back again and again.
The trip was a reward for academic excellence. However, it wasn’t just for fun, it was an educational trip. Weeks before my National Honor Society classmates and I piled into the school van for the adventure, we studied and prepared presentations about the sites we would visit along the Santa Fe Trail. We learned about the mysterious carpenter who built the spiral staircase at the Loretto Chapel, the Spanish monks who planted the first vineyards as well as other notable historic figures, and places including Los Alamos, Rancho de Taos, and others. Over the years, I’ve made many trips back, and the Land of Enchantment never fails to show me something new and beautiful. However, until now, I had never been here over the Christmas holiday.
I had always wanted to witness the lighting of the luminaires. Luminaries are small lunch-size paper bags filled with enough sand to hold a tea light candle. The bags, evenly spaced a few feet apart, are placed on adobe walls and along driveways and are traditionally lit on Christmas Eve. Our friends took us to old town Albuquerque for the full festive experience. As we waited for it to get dark, we watched multiple generations of friends and families from all walks of life walk through the historic square. There were dogs in Christmas sweaters and children laughing and running as Christmas music played through the stereo speakers of a couple of low-rider cars decked out in Christmas lights. Vendors sold hot chocolate and churros coated with cinnamon sugar. It was everything and more than I had hoped for.
Another reason for making the trip out west was to see my oldest son, who I hadn’t seen in three years. He recently moved to a small town in Arizona to begin again. Underneath desert skies, he has found the love and support of a close-knit community and a new purpose that is as exciting and colorful as the hot air balloons out my window.
I left with a heart full of love and gratitude for life and second chances. I told him that every road so far has led him to where he stands. It’s the same for me, and you. The roads we’ve traveled, the people we’ve met along the way, the things we’ve learned and love we’ve shared are the ties that bind. It’s such a small world. And at the same time, it’s such a big world with wide open spaces to dream big colorful dreams. Up, up, and away.