So just before Aimee left our humble adobe abode, we scampered up to the Rio Grande Gorge Bridge. A place of stunning beauty, as the light shifts all throughout the day to play with the deep layers of exposed earthy rock, revealing shadowy, luminous, brilliant, murky, dazzling sites in lavenders, blues, oranges, pinks, flaming reds, indigo. For someone afraid of dizzying heights over rumbling, tumbling bridges at 1000 feet up, the bridge can be a bit daunting. Just ask Aimee, who almost, well. Let's just say she's a brave soul and the contents of her delicious lunch stayed perfectly situated in its happy tummy home.

Something about this little excursion made me want to put on a pair of hand-sewn leather boots. Bought them in the mid 1990's from an Orlando rhinestone cowboy store going out of business. Flashy, eccentric, entirely metallic leather, they feature a scene straight outta rebellious Texas: the Alamo surrounded by cactus and sagebrush. I don't know what I was thinking when I bought these, except that they somehow supported my wannabe rock star gypsy cowboy Steve Wonder diva self.

But here we are, ten years later. Boots made for dancing--prancing across the Rio Grande. Need I mention how many times the rebel yell YEEEEEEEEHHHHHAAAAAAWWWWWW rang out over the bridge that day?

So last week Aimee came to town and Silas and I had the chance to play tourist in our own town. Which, lemme tell ya, ain't exactly hard to do. I remember being in college in Orlando completely bored out of my mind yearning for something interesting to do on the weekends. The local newspaper had suggested "playing tourist in your home town" and my god the plethora of boredom and nothingness that descended upon me was vast. The art museum took all of ten minutes to walk through. The parks and lakes held no new mysteries as I'd scoured them since I could crawl. Which left the tourist traps like Disney World, Sea World, and good 'ole Circus World which later became Boardwalk and Baseball, which was the scene of my very first roller coaster ride, but that's another story entirely. The tourist parks were as familiar to me as my grama's house, I'd visited so often. Which meant I could play tourist in...in...my head.

But Taos? I never tire of playing tourist here. I often sigh "I love this town" as I drive around on miscellaneous errands. Even a trip to the grocery store can find me professing undying love for this village. It fills my soul. I mean--what kind of town has places like "Bad Dog Road" and "Alpaca Avenue?" These random shots were taken--some by Aimee, some by me--on our outings around town. Nothing special except everything.

(one of the bad dogs. on the road.)