In the south, the red mountains fall away and yellow mountains rise up, full of silver and turquoise rock. There are plenty of rabbits here, a little rain in the middle of the summer, fine clouds tethered on the highest peaks. If you are out in the middle of the desert, this is the way you always end up facing. 

      In the south, twelve buckskin horses are living along the edge of the yellow mountains. The creeks here are weak; the horses have to go off somewhere for water, but they always come back. There is a little grass, but the horses do not seem to eat it. They seem to be waiting, or finished. Ten miles away you can hear the clack of their hooves against the rocks. In the afternoon, they are motionless, with their heads staring down at the ground, at the little stones.

      At night they go into the canyons to sleep standing up. 

      From the middle of the desert, even on a dark night, you can look out at the mountains and perceive the differences in direction. From the middle of the desert, you can see everything well, even in the black dark of a new moon. You know where everything is coming from. 

       - Barry Lopez, Desert Notes

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Every so often I come across some nature writing that astounds me with its ability to capture my imagination and transport me to another place and time that, though I’ve never been there, feels as though I have. This is one of my favorites. I can imagine being in the desert and hearing horses’ hooves, miles off, clacking against the rocks in the dark of a new moon.