Goose Lake - Red River, NM

I keep scaring the light away on this trip.
It begins playing games with me as soon as I leave Amarillo. The mountains burst into wonderful color. Excited, I turn my head to check the road, and then I look back and see just a silhouette. The drive out of Amarillo hasn't changed, but it's trying to tell me it has. The woods. The lakes. The log cabin ruins. They all show me their good side, and then quickly fade to flat and boring. Tyler and I spend an hour on the phone talking about Mexico and even the memories dance in and out of my field of view.

My mind wants to play similar games. I keep chasing a peaceful state, only to realize I am already in one... or I mull on something until my brow furrows, only registering that I am in the mud when my eyes begin to squint.
Chasing the light is a lot like chasing a truth that you only partially recognize.
You can see it, and appreciate it... but if you say “look at that”, it’s gone before you can point.

I am headed out to New Mexico because I know people who are doing the same. I figure there will be something within the Enchanted Circle for me.
At the very least I can sleep in the truck and ride my bike.
Instead, I'll spend the weekend chatting with old memories that are unaware we have already met, and falling in love with a stump and a rock.
The light can go to hell.
She's too fickle.
Every so often... if you sneak up on her with a camera, and just stay quiet... you can catch her while she isn't looking.







The next time someone doesn’t understand why art matters I’m going to tell them to watch that stupid water monster movie, The Shape of Water, and then I’m going to give them 9 months to think about why they can’t stop thinking about it.
And when they can’t figure it out I’m going to tell them... neither can the scientists. 

We’re all in this together.

Our brains are broken.
But just broken enough so that we know it and can’t fix it.

I am following a G wagon up the Goose Lake Trail.

The thing I learned most from art classes is when to recognize the arrival of the ghost of inspiration. 

It’s a veil. A tint on the lens. 

Most people blink it away, afraid that they might see one of the things they avoid.
That they might face a monster they’re not prepared for (or in love with just yet). 

But if you just stare through it, you’ll start to notice that it’s always shifting, fleeting and precious.

You learn to greet it like an old friend and catch up before the currents of life carry you outside of conversational distance.

You both do your best to keep some part of what was mutually appreciated, and hope to recognize one another the next time around.
Unless it comes as light.
Then you curse it for leaving.

At the lake, the driver of the G wagon immediately gets out and, after a quick pee, starts hiking. 

It's a serious walk.
I always hope that this is how people use those vehicles and honestly, one is enough. 

People in Durangos. Not usually a fan. Really, any Dodge.
Also, who names their dog Badger?
People in Dodge Durango’s.... that’s who. It’s like naming your cat “Antelope”.
Luckily, the type of person that can’t be bothered to name their pet anything besides another animal’s name also can’t be bothered to walk more than 5 minutes without a little snack, or one of those nutrition belts... so I follow Mr. Gwagon and hike up the mountain to peace and quiet.
As I am walking away, I can still occasionally hear them calling, “Badger! Badger!?”
But at least I can't see them... so I imagine they are calling after an actual badger.
That’s the kind of pet that I wish Dodge owners kept. 
They would be way cooler.

I never liked the teacups. 

I once had a crush on a girl that I only knew for one ride on the teacups at Knoebels.
I was probably 10-12 years old.
She seemed older, but only slightly. We would lock eyes, and then our teacups would turn and pivot away. A smile. A silly look. When the ride ended, she left with her family and I with mine.

She looked back at me and smiled as we went our separate ways. 

When I saw her again at the bumper cars, she had changed somehow. I could tell she didn’t want to ride them. 

It was a real shame. She had been so happy. 

I never cared for the teacups. 

But every time I see them I think of her and smile.

Goose Lake is just barely remote, and even though it is frequented and has it's own Trip Advisor, non-humans come here often enough that their trails are about as worn in as ours. 

There is amazing reception at the top of the mountain.

I know this because a bunch of worry texts come through as I'm enjoying the silence.
I text back, of course... and I send out some pictures.

I literally climbed a mountain to get cell phone reception.
Ohkay, not literally. But I can see it that way if I choose to.
There's no one up here to judge me, so I have to do it myself.

After walking back down, it's as I am approaching the lake that I spot my first love.
Bigger than I remember, as is usually the case, but just as beautiful.
Unlike the rest, I can't get a bad picture of her.
She doesn't move. But if she did... I'm sure it would be fun to watch.
Even the light cooperates.





I screwed up, and tried to edit the second picture... to brighten up the cloud-shadows over the lake... I didn't like it as much, but saved over the original file. So this is the only version I have of it. Figures.

Back at the parking lot, I spot something else.
I missed it in my ignorance, trying to get to the lake that I hardly spent any of my time at anyway.
As I approach, it takes on a new character. Gives me a different look.
I try to walk away, but it just keeps luring me back in.
I take pictures until my camera battery dies.
Children look at me funny... but an older man gives me a smile that says he understands.
I don't make the same mistake with this one.
Editing only ruins things.