Image description: Service road along Rt 9 in New Mexico, mid January. 
Image description: Barbed wire fence, along I-10, mid January. 
Image description: A beautiful day in New Mexico, late January. 
Image description: New Mexico Pet Cemetery 
Image description: Tunnel under I-10, New Mexico 
Image Description: Heart-shaped cactus, Hachita NM 
Image Description: Sunrise, New Mexico 
Image Description: a cold selfie, while stuck in Amarillo, TX. 
Image description: My snow angel, Amarillo, TX. 2/18/21 
Image description: Frozen tree, early February, near Hereford, Tx. 
Image description: Me, laying in the snow, Amarillo, TX. 2/18 
Image description: Snowy view of a grain elevator, out my motel window in Amarillo, TX. 2/16 
Image description: A snow-dusted Hannah, walking 4 miles in Texas to a motel.
(Written weeks ago, was not going to share but seems fitting now that I’m stopped in Amarillo. 2/18/21)
Tomorrow reminds me of your shining, dark eyes. Tomorrow reminds me that I left them behind – somewhere I can’t remember. When I wake up tomorrow it will be cold, and I’ll be scared. For a little.
When I wake up tomorrow I will think of you and wonder what you’re seeing. When I wake up tomorrow I won’t want to move. I’ll hold my breath and sing my favorite song, I’ll sing it without one drop of oxygen or one lick of water. I’ll hear the way my body sinks in the sand, the spines. My spine. Your soil. My tent is ripped, two slits I covered with yellow tape. Yellow reminds me of haley and my childhood bedroom. Bedrooms and beds and home. Home is where the heart is, and mine is both too many places and also only in my chest.
I guess my home is in my chest. My body. My body is my home and I love her. My body is my home and I love her. When I wake up tomorrow my body will hurt. Hurting is ok. Tomorrow reminds me that hurting is ok as long as you can keep going. I want to always keep going – they say “remember to slow down” – I’m trying to slow down. I’m scared to slow down I’m scared of stopping I don’t ever want to stop. When I wake up tomorrow I will start moving and moving reminds me of the wind, the wind that is my friend, the wind that never stops. Tomorrow reminds me that I’m both one step closer and one step further from what I love.
That I chose to love people on both coasts leaves thousands of empty miles in the middle. Thousands of empty miles leaves space for new love.
Miles For Climate 
I hope that wherever you are now you’re safe! The first and only time I was in Amarillo was in 1983 when I’d walked there on Plowshare Pilgrimage ( anti nuclear) walk from D.C. om 1983. Very flat there…Your commentary was rambling but I guess that reflected you state of mind when wrote it, Hannah. Thanks for the messages.
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Beautiful writing. Thank you for deciding to share this, Hannah.
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I love this passage, these thoughts and words. It’s gorgeous. I can relate and it gives me comfort that I can relate. I too love people on both coasts and I feel so fortunate that I can have love in so many places. But it pains me to know that it hurts our environment to travel to the people and places that I love. It makes me feel like a hypocrite for loving and hurting at the same time.
I’m so glad that you write its okay to hurt. I think so many people can not manage hurting. I see this in my patients who experience pain in the hospital. Hurting is a process, an experience and it truly can make someone stronger. I do feel like that can be a metaphor for our shared experience with covid now. The earth and the people are hurting. How are we going to come together and get stronger and see this problem through. Hannah, you’re so wise! thank you for being you. Thank you for sharing your experience and words.
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After seeing the weather in Texas, I’m just glad you are hunkered down somewhere warm!
AND, I hope that you get a chance to see the “Cadillac Ranch” while you are passing through Amarillo!
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