Monday, the culmination of another visit to Big Bend, was busy but rewarding. Dinner at the Starlight in the Ghost Town sweetly topped it off. Burgers are two for the price of one, and they are good, especially the venison. Bob, Gloria, Ed, Roger and I all enjoyed a dinner of burgers, surrounded by locals and listening to fantastic music, performed by locals.

I don't recall the names, but the woman (whose voice reminded me of a polished Janis Joplin; a smooth blues voice) is associated with a health-food store in Alpine (if memory serves me right). The lead guitarist is very talented! His blues guitar is fantastic, his voice compelling and on key. He is a Terlingua resident, and I've seen him before, but can't remember the name (I have name amnesia). The bass player was as most good bass players; subtle, riding on the voices and lead notes to provide gentle nudging.

They were captivating. And an example of what this type of community fosters: it nurtures creativity, freedom of expression.

We sat out on the porch after dinner in the warm darkness. Monday nights seem to draw desert folks from their nearby adobes, ranches, and from neighboring places as far as Casa Piedra and Ruidosa. Along with several others I had met previously, strange coincidences introduced me to a few others: a writer and artist from Casa Piedra, a desert expedition guide from Ruidosa that made my favorite roadside art, and ended with a personal talk with a river guide just returned from a trip into the outbacks of Mexico. Hallie Stillwell's granddaughter had latched onto Bob, both sitting on the bench. Beers lubricated the tongues with stories galore, none of which I remember considering I was slowly fading towards sleep. I knew a long day of riding was in store after sunrise.

It was hard to leave the next morning. But I silently promised the desert I will return. And soon, to stay.