So whenever I think the thrill has gone and I can't be bothered to write anything on here any more there's a day like today.
I've been coming out here (Silver City) for years now and always smile (let's be honest - I roll my eyes and "tut") at the road signs on the way to Deming with the metaphysical "Dust Storms May Exist" warning.
Fifteen years and nary a sign of one, but today in-between Palomas and Deming with the sun shining and turning everything gold and the tumbleweed, er, tumbling across the road with monotonous regularity and my little Zippy shuddering a bit in the wind I must have gone through ten mini storms, none of them bad enough to cause me to slow down but each one making me shake my head in awe at how absolutely fucking amazing the workings of astrology and the world are.
And just in case someone thought I needed bashing over the head with symbolism, I got home to a call from the plumber saying he'd picked up the new stove and could he come and install it - this after a two-week wait - and install it he did, natural gas to liquid propane conversion kit and all. Sheesh.
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