Turquoise and silver of the Southwest; spicy green and red chile peppers of Albuquerque, my heart is home in the arid land of New Mexico.

What once I took for granted, absence has remembered.

What now I long for will soon be mine again.

Home is where dry desert wind swirls and the cold night air burns my lungs,

moisture in the air smells like waxen creosote blossoms and dusty tumble weeds.

Home is where clouds, dark and heavy, come only to threaten an impending storm.

Lightening clashes.

Thunder cracks.

Home is where cactus spines pierce the sunshine, jackrabbits sprint through bushes, and hot-air balloons cruise above the sandstone mesas. The houses are made out of clay and plaster, and the front lawns are xeiriscaped with gravel and native herbs.

Mud of the Rio Grand trickles by.

Water is worth its weight in gold.

Sun-painted blue and coral skies on fire; by night the vast black heavens, unpolluted with mega-city smog, flicker with bright stars.

Cicadas forever buzzing.