To see far is one thing:
going there is another.

by Brancusi

X

Tuco looked across the valley.

The December air was still
and cool.
Blue hues played across the far mountains.
Light haze shifted the sun's winter aspect
across the valley.

He thought about journeys.
How any extended journey becomes mythic
whether is was, or is, or is not.

He turned
the horse
toward the downward slope.
Lifted his gaze toward the trees
lining the wash
far below.

There,
he heard,
was history
there.

A place
to learn
his
next
story.

A story
to elaborate
the theme
this landscape
told.

He moved
from the spine
of the ridge
toward
the spine
of the wash,
the valley
before him.

Warm sun
on his back.
A shadow
of story
before him.