Seeking a stone to fill the hole of loss
that gaped and sang for medicine. Precious
as silver mined or a hawk feather tossed
by the wind, where the high desert’s spacious
grace gives benediction to art. Holy
dirt in a hole in the floor, offering
a cure, a miracle. We were only
travelers, become pilgrims, bestowing
meaning where meaning was found. The sky was
an oracle of color, cherished gem.
A filling station turned outpost gave pause
on the way to our unknown Bethlehem.
Quiet land yielded to man’s time-worn path;
the quenching well sprang from a source that lasts.
Our first trip down the Turquoise Trail in New Mexico (in 2018) was unforgettable. A friend of mine recommended it, and we took her advice without doing any research, so it was all brand new to us. If you ever get a chance to go there, it’s worth the trip! Thanks for reading.