Nights like these the desert starts to creep in. Memories of driving aimlessly all night through Santa Fe mountains; laying on the warm hood of my car to stare at endless Santa Fe stars. The sky met the mountains and the trees, but never touched the city, so far out of sight even the glow of it can't be seen. Nights like these I miss the desert. I miss pressing the gas pedal to the ground just to see how fast the car could go down those endless hills, deep into canyons. Somehow towns up here are so much harder to escape from. Every exit leads somewhere. The sky doesn't seem so endless and there is no Nowhere to drive to. There is no sandy pull-off, or highway to Mexico. No unlit roads to dark solitude. Even in this small town, the lights are always on. I have to be inside to find the darkness of night time. I have to crouch in front of the woodstove to find a hopeful glow reminiscent of a desert sunrise.
All highways are the same though, and I know that if I just drive long enough I'll find that unpaved road that leads up purple mountains. And yet, somehow, this place feels like so much more of a home to me than those ghostly southwestern towns. Something keeps me here, even on nights like these.