Crossed the border just outside of Mexico, and it was hot. 115 degrees and I could feel the asphalt burning underneath my feet. The piercing, sharp draw of the saguaro and cholla needles seemed to be threatening the earth to rain. It was high noon and you must have thought I was crazy for pulling over. The sweat was running down our skin. My dress, sticking to my body, yet, billowing in the dry wind. You told me to kick up the dust, so I did. The road home was long, and desolate, so we ran out to walk the line. Just you and I. Always in the game of chasing beauty.