“Damn. It’s such beautiful country out here.”
I sat up in the bed of the pickup truck and looked out at the endless horizon. A breeze fluttered back and forth in the air not knowing which way it wanted to go. He didn’t need words or a nod from me to know that I agreed; it was fucking gorgeous. I lit a hand rolled cigarette and watched the smoke waft away in the undecided breaths of wind. Goosebumps covered my naked body. As I took another drag of my cigarette, I felt his warm hand gently graze my shoulder.
“Of course, it’s not quite as gorgeous as you.”
I continued to stare at the stark contrast caused by the sinking sun. He didn’t need words or a shake of my head to know that I didn’t believe him; nothing was more beautiful than the soul of the desert. The dark thunderheads were illuminated by the burning horizon. The sky was on fire, picking its way through the clouds one by one. It was a tragically beautiful war between earth and sky, peace and chaos, sunset and thunderstorm. Sometimes I like to imagine myself as a child with delicate and imaginative ignorance.
But I’m not a child anymore. Sometimes I feel like the world has become see through. Flicking out the last of my cigarette’s light, I dressed my bare shoulders with a heavy, fringed blanket. I liked dreaming of lands far away, walking barefooted in the dirt with my dress-like quilt into the melting skyline. To me, there’s no warmer embrace than that of nature. Sometimes I even think it is necessary for my soul to sleep next to the Earth; it gives me a reason to live.
“You know I love you, right?”
Somewhere in the midst of my thoughts I think I heard you say something. But I was more concerned with thoughts of lightning and rain and torrents of mud and flash floods and the wind and how this darkness always brought the most breathtaking of sunrises in the morning. I was more involved with the thought of life, the dark clouds, and the abrupt disappearance of the sun. I liked thinking about the depth of beauty in the tragedies of nature. I liked imagining that maybe one day, I would be just as beautiful. But most of all, I have come to realize I am entrenched by this torrid love affair with the landscape that dressed my vision.
I need to find a way to breath. I desperately wanted to feel the rough sand cushioning the souls of my arches. I motioned dismissively to the truck bed, lit another cigarette, and allowing the blanket to swallow my body I walked barefoot off towards the storm.
© /skin/ /ˈpōətrē/