I got to my history friend Dave's house about 2 this morning. There was an unlocked door waiting for me. I haven't actually seen Dave yet, since he went in to work early. Despite some sleep, I am thoroughly wiped out and blank-headed. It's not exactly unpleasant, although I do feel sort of stunned, disoriented, trying to figure out where I am and what I've done for the last 3 weeks (certainly not much blogging!).
Sycamore trees and their leafy shadows are dancing in the wind outside. Their shadows are cast on the walls of nearby dormitory buildings. The view out another window reveals parking lots and a big playing field.
It all has little relation to the sprawling view of west El Paso and Juarez that I had from the place where I woke up yesterday, or the flat black landscape, little lights and big starry sky I watched go by for several hours last night. Or -- my favorite place in-between -- the spring I hiked up to on the side of the Guadalupe Mountains, where an unexpected stream creates a little oasis for ferns, oaks, shrubby maples and a gathering of small birds before disappearing into a dry gully in the Chihuahuan desert.
Around 11:30 last night I got stopped for speeding just outside Wichita Falls, Texas (74 in a 60 zone I hadn't noticed -- the open road speed limit there is 70-75 mph), but the officer said he'd just give me a warning this time. It turned out to be a useful (I went more carefully after that) and pleasant encounter that somehow made the whole bewildering day seem better. After he'd handed over the warning notice, I offered him one of my cards for being friendly. He liked the paintings and chose the White Car -- "it seems like the right one, with the car and the stop sign..." That wasn't how the scenario is supposed to play out when a New York car gets pulled over in the middle of the night in Texas.
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