Santa Elena Canyon

With my earlier champagne buzz still floating around in my head, I come to the parking lot trailhead for Santa Elena. It is eerily quiet this morning. The Rio Grande is slowly flowing into the entrance of the canyon, waiting like a Giant’s open mouth to swallow all those that dare walk in….
 The high granite walls are impressive in size as I make my way along the trail and into the shadows. There is no sound other than the shuffling of my feet as I go.

I feel like a lone desperado.

When I reach the end of the trail (which is only a mile and half long) I stumble upon a couple of girls who thought they were alone. They are affectionately kissing and taking selfies. I smile shyly at them, not because their lesbianism embarrasses me, but because I intruded in on a quiet moment between lovers.

“You’ve got to let someone love you, before it’s too late….”
 As I make my way back, more hikers are entering the canyon, their voices ringing off the granite stone walls in loud fashion. I hear an older gent make a comment about “illegals” that may be in here trying to cross the border.

Ridiculous, but it sums up the thought processes of at least half of our country right now.

A lone canoe comes down the river with his tent and supplies strapped to his canoe. He tells us that he was camping in Mexico a few miles upstream. The older gent asks him if he is worried about “illegals”.

The man laughs loudly, trying not to be too rude. He tells the man it would be nearly impossible for anyone to try to cross the border out here, and even if they did, he would welcome our neighbors to the South with open arms.
 The perplexed look on the older gents face fills me with joy.

Wench, bring my ale, what say you?

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