Enough is Enough: The Long Return

Somewhere along Route 84 South to Santa Fe I realized that although I had already come more than far enough in these past two months of travel, I still had to make the long and tiresome drive back through the Horse Latitudes, the Straits of Diminishing Returns, and the Dismal Plains before arriving back in From-Whence-I-Came, Ohio and wondering whether this entire journey had been "but a dream". As I recall, this moment of insight coincided with the point where Route 84 changed rather abruptly from being a truly Scenic Route through snowy mountain passes, still verdant pasture land for horses, elk and gazelles, and ancient mesas fashioned by millions upon millions of years of weather to yet another divided four lane highway dotted with those ubiquitous roadside franchises as-seen-on-tv and almost every town on the American map, including (so I hereby predict) the Moon.

Along this raceway, cars, trucks, motor homes and motor cycles were speeding northbound, as fast as possible, out and away from Santa Fe while in the opposite, southbound, lanes as many vehicles sped into Santa Fe. Signs warning of Wildlife Crossing notwithstanding, the race was on... to Wendy's! To Arby's! To the Dollar General! Macy's! Or, as a taxi driver expressed it (in the classic Christmas movie, The Bishop's Wife) "Nobody really knows where they're going, but they're all in a hurry to get there!" Carried along in this torrent of Speedomania I arrived in Santa Fe at least a day and a night sooner than I had planned.

The Cathedral Basilica of St. Francis here features a bronze sculpture of St. Francis and the Wolf of Gubbio. Thinking that Kukla would appreciate meeting the wolf, I walked her into the adjacent garden and park. A sign said, "No Dogs!" We went in anyway. At that point I was more than a little ready to argue with any city officer that, after all, St. Francis was the patron saint of animals. Kukla is an animal, etc.,etc. The wolf and Kukla regarded one another in canine camaraderie and the good saint smiled in accord. 

Later, as I was sitting quietly on a bench in the Plaza and enjoying the warmth of an early afternoon sun with Kukla by my side, I suddenly had the sense that the entire Plaza was actually the grounds of a lunatic asylum, and that I and everyone else there were patients of the asylum. The shops situated around the square were seen as children's play stores, or like Hollywood sets, intended only to provide some amusement and diversion for us inmates. All an illusion. Who, so I wondered, are our Keepers?

The Survey Lady came along with her notebook and her sunny disposition. She asked us questions and wrote in her notebook.

Next week I will begin the drive back East. I am dreading all the simulacra of a Faux Noel.