Brain Fog

Out west of us here, there's a mountain...I call, 'Witch's Hat'. I call it that, because it sticks up in a perfect point, well...like a witch's hat. It's a perfectly clear morning, a bit cool, nothing to impede the view. Out there on the horizon, where Witch's Hat is supposed to be, are two mountains today; a larger pointed one and next to it, two table tops with shadows and all...solid as reality.

Big gap between the peak and the table tops.  I ask my wife to come check it. Took her forever...had to find her glasses. Mystery's don't wait for glasses, often. They did, this time. She looked. She looked again. "That ain't right", she said. I asked her to take a picture. She did. She went inside. It began changing. It morphed...before my eyes, as if another world were there, but shy...retreating into haze and folding down, into flat lines.

Now, Witch's Hat is back, out there...where it usually is...on a flat horizon...doing its time. They call this 'The Land of Enchantment', this New Mexico, but I figure, the world is enchanted, and it begins to show itself...in New Mexico. Whatever it is...it's a mystery of space and time, some prefer to call 'mirage'...if that makes them feel better. I think we got us a 'hologram', over the whole human race...like a brain fog; most can't see a thing.

I enjoy this place, these sights, the twisted logic of these things...the momentary truth's or not, dart pass the corners of my eyes...old cowboys, long gunned down, still riding on their boney ghosts...smiling through the sagebrush, at me. Black dogs, old gutted buildings, never were there anyway...returned from dust, to have their way...their own rules, only...they obey. They're out there in the lonely. They're out there.


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: J.C. Casado, google pic