the other . A bird screeches and I glance up to see a hawk , an eagle , or some other raptor circling , squawking his way around the peak above us . Warning us not to get too close .

Imagination runs deep here in this amalgam of desert asphalt and tumbling ridges – both legend and truth . Every range a dichotomy of history . Every individual unique .

Carroll Shelby , a Texas chicken farmer-turned-racecar driver and eventually car builder , was no different – racing into the desert of West Texas almost 60 years ago , looking for an escape and instead building a legacy . A coat of arms dedicated to the local jackrabbits and 1860 wagon races , fabricated from the mind of artist Bill Neale and a run of chili cook-offs and racing teams that continues today .

And Terlingua Ranch , now a sprawling semi-development of desert homes , tents and trailers , holds this memory close . Shelby ’ s coat of arms stands proud on dusty truck bumpers , dirt roads , and land boundaries of this desert division .

It ’ s easy to reflect here , high above the world below , and so I do – in this remote , yet intimate place . Browsing through the scars , the lines , and soft parts of myself which used to be hard . The hard parts which used to be soft . Through the cactus thorns and quicksand , the should haves and did nots . The words unspoken and only thought . It seems they hurt just the same , don ’ t they ?

It takes a certain kind of grit to make a living here – it always has . Most just visit . Water is scarce , resources are few , and off-grid is simply another way of life . The heat can kill – and at times it does – but those who make this desert their home have a way with it . A way they are willing to suffer for . A suffering which comes with great reward .

In a moment we will begin our descent , back into the land of todo lists , traffic and hot meals – but for now we sit in our reverie . Dreaming and watching the earth move around us , spinning into the nothingness above as if it , too , wants to touch the sky and simply melt into the blue . Each breath a slow exhale .

When it ’ s time , I slide my foot into the stirrup , mount and pull the reins around . I am hot , sweaty , and covered in dirt , yet my thoughts rest . They have found their balance , stirred only by the wind , stoked only by the sound of hoof-steps , and my heart opens . And once again I am lost in this world . For what can you feel here but small ? Entry to the Christmas Mountains is by permit only , available at Terlingua Ranch Lodge along with cabins and camping facilities . �