Arriving Again at Ghost Ranch

The place of arrival
Where all time stops
I smell the air
feel her dryness in my bones.

The place of return
Of knowing
coupled with pure expectancy
of the newness of this experience.

Visits with old sage and dust
heat
Music of cicadas dotting the path
Mexican food, margaritas.

The return to stillness
amid doing
Acclimation, renewal
colors, creative abandon.

I was young here
Sorted through crises here
I slept here
woke here.

I am here.
Brought back time and again
for my soul to come home
to peace.

The road is always long
and worth the effort.