There are many things to love about the desert, but among them is the expanse that stretches before you. If your mind is prone to wandering, the desert horizon is as good as the ocean for letting yourself run free. And like the ocean, there are very few places to hide.

I went into the desert with one of my own stories about myself. This particular story is a familiar one, soft and bedraggled like an old blanket I might have rescued from one of those dreams, before everything went up in smoke. It was about fear and choice, about love and uncertainty. I repeated the tale to myself for many years: I am not good at decisions. I’m not sure who I am or what it is I want. Better to let things flare up and burn brightly, I said, no matter how quickly they might be extinguished, and no matter how much it may hurt.

Then I saw the sparks snap against the sky, black and violet like a bruise. I thought of that expanse before me, as yet unwritten, with room to imagine an entirely new story, and I saw it disappear in the smoke of fires that should have been extinguished, should have been tended more thoughtfully. As the heavy logs burned down into broken embers, I watched as the story I had told myself disappeared up beneath Orion’s swagger. I stared out into the unknown darkness beyond the orange glow, already writing the next story.