Riders of the Purple Sage

Our new house in Tucson, which is precisely as old as the house we presently live in--that is to say, "new to us, but about a quarter of a century old", is on the northwest side of Tucson, looking still farther west and north toward Twin Peaks. At this time of the year, when the sun sets north of west, it dips behind Twin Peaks, not cautiously, but with a thunderous declaration that it will rest.

It does. The earth rolls east, and east, and nearly forever east, and in the morning, the sun appears north of east, as enthusiastically as it had dipped west.

"It is a dry heat", as you have heard, and so the ridges are sharp, unfiltered, unscattered by water in the air.

There is a sharpness to the edges of life in the desert. The riders of the purple sage go carefully at night.

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