TAOSIAN MISSIVE

You pan across the deserted desert house from a distance, then approach on foot from the side. There are many ways in and you can see that no person waits indoors. You stay outside. Your eyes avert to the sky at the sound of a rumble, like a bird falling into the rocks, and the coarse bluff resects the clear blue as in a painting of stripes. There is no other sound in this paragraph, unless there is the sound of the heater bristling into the underside of a wicker chair. There is a wool blanket folded and laid across the backrest, a dull pattern in the southwestern style.  

A Taos of the mind.

Comments

[bts]

i've never been to Taos