Wexas.
It’s easy to see why Donald Judd would have moved out here. Everything is stark, refined. And when the sun sets over the plateaus it’s his exact color palette-brown, blue, silver, pale oranges and yellows.
The only radio station we got had a DJ hoping for rain, playing “It’s raining down in Texas,” “Rainy Day Blues,” and various Bob Dylan unplugged. “The forecast is just dust and wind, more dust and wind. We’re hoping for rain, but…I guess you got the memo of dust and wind.” Then a song with the chorus “rain rain rain rain” comes on.
We saw Saturn and the sombrero galaxy, a tiny little Mexican hat 50 million lightyears away that’s really a whole other world. There are more stars than ever before and everyone is overly friendly, but these vast expanses make me feel lonely.
