The dry climate in the Southwest makes the world look different. Mountains appear to fade into the blue sky from a distance, only showing their true reds, browns, and oranges upon much closer inspection. The rocky faces jut out of the flat land like a fist pumping into the air; a sudden motion, unexpected to the untrained eye. The foliage of the east coast has been left behind, only scraggles of greenery to break up the warm color scheme.
I have been coming across so many linear minds. Mathematics and sciences computing to come up with one solid answer, a final truth which bring some kind of internal peace. It fascinates me because it isn’t me.
I need people whose brains work in waves; their thoughts crash into each other like the instruments in a symphony.
I wonder if the dry, flat desert cultivates a mind that works in patterns, like the rock formations with their finely executed timeline written in their sedimentary colors.
Does living in the green vegetation of New England ensure more maze-like connections? So used to the twisting, winding trails of the mountains, and the ever-changing seasons, perhaps we are more inclined toward the abstract.
Oh, the thoughts of the lost and insane.