field note 2 — bone-weary
Patsy Cline
Before dawn I left El Centro.
A few miles north of the wall.
The birthplace of Cher.
I wandered into the desert.
A brutal kind of openness.
Right then.
Checking for rattlesnakes.
I stumbled upon the ocotillo.
Just a plant in the desert.
Nothing dramatic.
Clarity before words.
A recognition more than an idea.
The moment when things align.
A conversation, maybe.
A moment, nothing more.
Somewhere in the distance, or maybe only in memory, Patsy Cline was singing Crazy.
— theo anderson