I’m leaving Arizona.
I’ve spent the last two years here, with no more interruption or time away than the odd ski trip.
It’s been good, my season in the desert. I’ve explored–and learned to love–another corner of the great American west. I’ve scaled to the tops of its rugged peaks, explored its canyons, and marveled in the majesty of its (remaining) unspoiled desert. I’ve sweat through 120 F heat, and shivered in blowing blizzard. I’ve experienced parching thirst for lack of water, and experienced acute peril when there was too much water. I’ve learned to place trad protection when climbing, and learned what thin protection a t-shirt is on a motorcycle. I’ve developed a valuable professional skill-set. I’ve made few friends–but cherish those few immensely. I’ve learned to paddle, and improved my skiing. I’ve seen too few sunsets, and read too few books. I’ve forgotten how to write. I’ve lost the faculty for interesting thoughts. I’ve introspected seldom. I’ve drank frequently, and too often to excess. I’ve consumed too much passive entertainment. I’ve developed an abiding love for bluegrass, folk, blues. I’ve seen many great shows.
Such has been my time in Arizona.