I am leaving home to be with the wild, the wind. I am leaving my comfort for the darkness of the earth and sky. Deep starry nights are singing. The desert is calling. There’s patience in my planning, but the time draws near. No one understands the mysteries of the world, or why the heavens weep. No one really sees the hidden mysteries.
You have to drop the weight that drags you down. There is only one way to dream. The desert is calling. The land is going to tranform. The old way lives in my heart. My spirit is strong. I’ve been a stubborn son of a gun, but I know where the horizon waits.
The old man is coming. He’s coming to give me his hand. Together we’ll find the place where nothing ever sleeps. He’s the ancient river that roars, He’s the old bristlecone; the sun that comes up in the morning.
So friends, tonight I pack my things and journey into the desert. The Red Rocks are glowing below the crimson sky. The ancient wailing winds are whipping accross the eroded landscape. My soul is scattering accross the bottomless mountain ranges of the desert. My heart is in the tower of stars.
The desert calls in those darkest hours, whispering soft. It’s begging my long-lasting hopes. Tonight, I am treading into the wilderness. I cannot be late for the appointment, with the shadows of the land.