Aditi Sawant lives in Plano, Texas. this piece first appeared inVoicesin 2023.
Through the car window, I watch the high mountains roll into the desert. The Rio Grande is somewhere to my right, down past the sagebrush. I notice that the granite has turned to flagstone; pink irony granules melted down by the wind, giving Colorado its name. Long dusty driveways lead to little ranch houses with deadwood fenceposts. Even dead things remain alive by being useful, wired together by someone’s working hands. In this part of the world, nothing is ever wasted, everything has a purpose. Through the car window, long sweeping views pass like the wind, far over the unspoiled horizon, uninterrupted. In this valley, there is a small notion of human beings living with it, not against it.
