When I was growing up, I could look across Albuquerque, over the city from the Sandia foothills to the West Mesa and beyond, sometimes all the way to the Mt. Taylor stratovolcano nearly 100 miles west. I'd watch the sky change from blue to bright and brilliant orange and red and yellow to dark purple and black and dream about driving into a sunset that would never end.
On this day, we drove west, west, west across Texas back to New Mexico. And indeed the setting of the sun seemed to last about an hour, changing from spectacular to glorious to fading splendor. The glow fell from the sky to the horizon and below, lighting the skies and creating a glimmering mirage across the roadway. Every turn brought a new view, almost as if we were racing to keep up. Maybe in my imagination, I was. Finally the skyline turned dark, and between low lying fog curtains, I could look up to the sky and the lights of the stars were shining bright, sparkling brilliant without the competition of city glare to interfere.
That drive was as close to the dream as I think I'll ever get.
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