Mexico was probably the best time of my life. Hidden in the desert, building trails for three months, completely cut off from life and reality (well, we did have internet thank goodness) we were able to shed some of the layers of behavior we are forced to wear in society. We acted like hooligans, roamed free and wild with no one to tell us what we should do or how to do it. It allowed us to get something back of our childhood and something that I imagine was present in man way back when. One of the best things was being allowed to express ourselves anyway we wanted. Whether that meant running around letting off fireworks or lying on the roof naked or sitting up under the stars writing about exactly what was in front of us. Despite feeling like we had signed up to an isolated prison in the desert we soon realized this was the most freedom we had ever experienced in our lives, or perhaps ever will again.

An ocean of blue, but neither a sea nor body of liquid. Waves of breeze and blow, not licked sea caps but wisps of cloud. The only tide is the sunlight, never hidden nor masked, except on its nocturnal flight.
Earth wide, space large. Landscape few, distant view. horizon granted, earths curve slanted.

Most days warm. Kissing fleece of hugging content. Some days cold like a stepmothers breath. One day shirts off, shorts on. Then next day turned off, hustle on.

To the front fathoms of room. To the rear fortress sentinels loom. Protected in the corner, backs to the wall. Canyons scored by rain, hiding places with a thousand no names. A thousand and twenty times fissures concealed, secreted and veiled.

Little sound when no one around. Believing nothing or no man steps forward on this ground. Coyotes bite, scorpion might. Snake rattle, feral cattle. A lonesome arrowhead, from battle, hunt or game? Like tell tale footprints of a warrior looking to maim. 

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