They say nothing changes here but that is not true. The weather patterns have changed. The cityscape has changed. The overall feel and sprawled sense of placelessness has not changed. Not a bit.
I have found home.
And it’s not what you think.
You’ve probably seen these great walls of dust on the news, the calamity they cause as they bear down on the desert. It’s a storm system that’s now part of monsoons, called a haboob.
They look terrifying.
People tend to hide indoors.
I was leery, at first. Listening to the dramatic expressions of caution and fret.
“Try not to get caught in that.”
This is what they look like inside.
It’s just dust.
And that’s it.
When you move through cloaks of curious, places where you can’t see where you intend to get, you can be careful. You can be safe. You can pull to the side and wait for the discomfort to pass, tell the tale.
Or you can push forward.
Become a part of what it is rather than sit aside and watch quietly.
There are times when I fall under the cracks, disappear for some time, abandon all but motherhood and instinct.
Watch the road unfold ten feet at a time. Delve deeply into the moments of uncertainty and the sense of being lost.