The deserts of the south west is an inhospitable place. Hot. Dry. Desolate. Even the plants and animals most adapted to the climate seem to struggle just to survive. Edward Abbey warned us against venturing into those deserts. Only the foolhardy ignore his warnings. And yet some of us are unable to resist the siren calls of those lands. Abbey himself was succumbed again and again to the lure of the deserts. His body lies in a concealed grave somewhere in the parched lands in southern Arizona.
Those of us drawn to the deserts can’t explain the attraction any more than Odysseus could explain the beauty of the songs coming from the Sirenum Scopuli. The beauty of the place is inexplicable.
I am happy that most people will never want to spend time in the desert. The emptiness allows me to contemplate the artistry and grandeur, the splendor and finesse of this country.
