Old Friends - White Sands

I've driven past the entrance to White Sands National Monument half a dozen times in the last few years. I was too busy to stop, or maybe it didn't fit the dynamic of the day. I've been a bad friend. These dunes are like a long time friend you mean to visit, but don't.

"Next time," I say as I speed past their driveway. I don't know why I'm wired this way, but I am.

I regret it.

This time it made sense to stop. It was a logical turn around point, before heading east. So on a chilly bright sunshine day, I turned in to see one of my favorite playgrounds.

I drove deep into the park onto the hard pack. I found a likeable pull off, parked, and got ready to go. Which means I took off my shoes and socks. Always walk bare foot in sand, if possible. The sand was cold, but my soul was warm.

I really didn't do much. I went on a long mile long circle out into the dunes. I was mostly following my muse, and  It didn't take long for the desert to envelope my senses.  The highway noise of cars, and people faded away. Only the soft sound of the desert breeze, rustling the dried grass remained.

If I lived anywhere near this place, I'd come once a week just to hear nothing, and see nothing but expansive sand views.

The dunes are a photographer's dream.
The dunes have worms! The dunes have tiny footprints. The dunes create scupltures.  The dunes offer great shadows. The dunes recreate themselves - like a giant 'Etch-a- Sketch.' The dunes softly erases all signs with wind.

I'm really glad I dropped by. Im really glad I walked out into the dunes, I remember why this is one of my favorite places.

As I write this piece in retrospect, I'm having an epiphany. I think I could call this a moment natural philosophy. The message is clear: Not only should I listen to the movements of my old desert playgrounds, but maybe I should see my people, as well. In short, It's time to get sandy.