Except for the clouds, my 6:00 a.m. flight from Des Moines to Dallas was uneventful.
From the air, Texas looked hot and arid, even from 30,000 feet. And vast. The Red River looped along, and then everything turned red, scarred and canyoned. Evenutally the flats were sectioned off by roads into giant flat tan squares and rectangles. The ruffled edges of rust hills spilled over the flats like lava flow. White wind turbines reached their long arms toward me, and clouds stretched out in blue layers like watercolor wash. I thought if I looked hard enough, I would be able to see the outline of the Texas panhandle, the way it's drawn on a map. But, no.
Then suddenly there were mountains, and we were thrust into the white hot desert below Sandia Peak. I had to wait a few hours for Kay to arrive, so spent part of the morning at the Indian Pueblo Cultural Center, ate Posole for lunch and bought groceries before going back to the airport to pick her up and head to Santa Fe.
There are some wonderful contemporary paintings by Pueblo Indians being exhibited. I was particularly intrigued by the fact that the Zunis have always been map makers. I love maps! And I noticed they are not afraid of using the word Indian. So much for "politically correct"--I also heard the term American Indian.