I enter a region, a place, a city where I know I’ve lived before.  I want to speak Spanish, jump on the back of a pony and ride out into the desert.  It’s a feeling of comfortable familiarity, like a second skin or a well-loved pair of slippers that are form-fitted to my feet, yet are falling apart from age at the same time.

The ocotillos and saguaros are like old friends, the call of the cactus wren is ingrained in my soul.  I walk inside the old Presidio San Agustin del Tucson.  Memories reach up from the ground, tingle my skin and pull me down, down, down, immersing me in who I used to be, but it was a long, long time ago.

It was my life as a caballero, a life that I loved in the Sonoran Desert.

I’ve come home – again.

Tucson, Arizona

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