I arrive in Santa Fe without my sense of direction. Don't know quite when or where I misplaced it. Fortunately, I'm so atypically serene that I don't get worked up over the large amount of time I spend being lost in Santa Fe. When I'm not lost, I'm looking for a parking place. By the time I find one, I don't know which direction to walk to my intended destination.
I remember my dear composition professor giving the lecture about form. Classical form is based on a geometric grid. Symbolic form is based on spirals and starbursts. Natural form is related to the land, the rocks, the shells... My comfort zone is the grid. Numbered streets crossed by lettered avenues at right angles and regular intervals.
Santa Fe is illogical, symbolic, and natural. Yoda wants me to become one with my light saber and fly blindfolded. Use the force, Louise. Alas, my time in Santa Fe is not long enough to complete my Star Fleet Academy training.
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