I am going to California this weekend, but in two weeks I will be back in New Mexico for a few days (the traveling equivalent of soul food), and I am hoping that I can get a chance to go down to the Rio Grande preserve in the lazy afternoon and listen to the big brown current, under cottonwoods with the cicadas buzzing. The way Norman McLean is haunted by waters, I still hear those cicadas sometimes when I walk home from the subway, and I find myself standing for long seconds on the street, confused, trying to pinpoint where exactly I am in space. You can take the girl out of the sand dunes…
In any case, please enjoy the saddest moment from one of the saddest movies ever made. Hailing from a place that was also cut and defined by a great flood between borders—and having fly fishing and trout casting in my family blood—this scene has always been one of my favorites.
Also, maybe I want to escape to Montana. Just a thought. “Big Sky Country” really has a nice ring to it.
