Prologue
“The Land of Enchantment”
They call her the Land of Enchantment… But that’s too small a word for what she does to you. New Mexico isn’t a place, she’s a promise. A flavor that lingers long after you’ve left the table. A prayer asked, a prayer answered, a prayer whispered between the wind and the clay.
But truth be told, she should’ve been the eldest. Like her Capital. America wasn’t ready for her rhythm, her spice, thanks to the chiles, her spirit, thanks to the Natives, her truth that doesn’t bend for approval. Her Culture. She is proud. She is stubborn. She is beautiful, in that kind of way that makes you forget what beauty used to mean. Her people bend but never break.
From the plateaus to the Rio Grande’s vein that carries the life’s liquid, every road here leads to history. Every Pueblo carries a story, not told, but felt. A story carved into the sandstone, painted in the sunset, sung in many languages as the sun rises, and the clouds kiss the Sandia Mountains.
The 47th state a baby among her siblings, She’ll test your patience then heal your soul.
As the sun rises, and the clouds kiss the Sandia Mountains. She’s sexy. Not in the way the city sells it but in the way she moves when the sun melts over mesas like warm honey on adobe skin. And yes… she is in the United States. But don’t get it twisted, the United States is lucky to have her.