DUSTY DETOURS.

New Mexico, HWY 285 

Malia and I had just began to head South from Taos, 

When the sun summoned us from the forever asphalt and it's flat yellow lines to the Garden of the Gods.

But the barb wire spoke volumes against its rays, 

forcing us forward  with nothing but a glimpse of a soft moment in time.

The road became our backdrop,

creme silk on dusty detours.

Our hearts racing in case of stains. 

In this very moment we had not a single notion of what our future would hold,

but soon we would have stories to share, 

stories to light a lost souls way. 

Through doors of shacks, motels, and teepees

roads of asphalt, dirt, and dust

we had formed a bond as strong as clay.

Malia, my light.

my home.