Morning in Albuquerque.
It’s as if I am playing catch up this week-end. Appearing in places I have long wanted to visit and, too, spending time with friends who live nicely south, yes, so very nice that it is indeed south, but south is far from north and so we haven’t much in the way of face to face contact in the course of the year. So we catch up now.
And we take a day trip to Santa Fe. I’m the outlier here – I’ve never traveled here. Yes, I know of its fantastic reputation. Some say it is the second most important art center in the country, after New York. A place of O’Keefe paintings (though she lived mainly just outside the city) and of adobe and faux-dobe houses, all high, where the air is thin and clear and the skies can be a raging blue.
All that. A mere hour's drive from Albuquerque.
I'll say more tomorrow, during the delays I'm sure to have at Midwestern airports as I fly north again, straight into the snowstorm back home.