Ricardo Breceda's oversize rusty sculptures of animals have arrived in Borrego since we were children, and are pleasing in their way - photogenic, certainly! But I include the picture above so you notice the sky, the last sun of day climbing over the hills in the distance. A few hours later the clouds will have sidled away, leaving a near perfect hemisphere of stars overhead. How to describe it? Malouf and Saariaho's "L'Amour de Loin," a lovesong to the sea, has this exchange:
(qui continue à s'agiter, et se penche au-dessus de l'eau)
Pèlerin, sais-tu pourqoui la mer est bleue?
Parce qu'elle est le miroir du ciel.
Et le ciel, pourquoi est-il bleu?
Parce qu'il est le miroir de la mer!
It's a little pat, but I like it. And it's a little like what the night sky in the desert feels like, enveloping and not distant at all, stark and grand but somehow kind, and containing multitudes. Explaining the joy of living in New Mexico I used to quote a line from Willa Cather's Death comes for the archbishop - "Elsewhere the sky is the roof of the world; but here the earth was the floor of the sky" - but I'm feeling something more symmetrical, reciprocal.
How easy it is to forget the one house of being in which we all live, what a privilege (alas) to have the chance to be reminded of it.