Many people, myself included, are pleasantly surprised by the first thing they see along the Rio Grande Village Nature Trail. In the midst of the vast arid desert lies a swampy pond enclosed in a thicket of river cane. The pond is no bigger than a football field, yet teaming with life. At twilight, silhouettes of barren trees haunt the stillness of the water, water colored by the sky. Tiny mammals - Mexican bats - flitter in swooping dives into the envelope of the pond, sometimes just an arm's length away. Turtles and pond snakes catch the last rays of the day before scuttling off to their nesting places. Frogs start to sing - a poem about impending quiet. Visiting ducks float like decoys in the mirrored waters while small beaver build their dams along the perimeter. The plank walk that leads through the swamp sits just inches above the pond, giving one the feeling of walking on water.

The trails leads out of the bog, back to the more familiar desert terrain, then makes a swift, but gradual climb to the top of a small hill, where eyes are fixed on the surrounding flood plains and soaring mountains. The mighty sun sinks slowly on the horizon, far beyond the Chisos Mountains that lie in the distance like a low, black cloud. The last rays of the day bounce off the millions of tiny particles of the atmosphere creating an array of color against the eastern and western skylines. The white buildings of the tiny village of Boquillas slowly fade to the color of sand as they reflect the surrounding hills. The shear walls of the majestic Sierra del Carmen escarpment rise from behind to dominate, all aglow in a perpetually changing palette of colors, from amber to lavender to a final cold gray. The mighty Rio Grande River takes its queue from the sky as it meanders through the harsh landscape, a landscape that whispers of the distant promise of peace and serenity.

The last light of the day moves on and a black satin sheet of tiny, sparkling sequins fills the sky. Just off center, and spread across the sky as if the sheet were double folded, the sequins are so thick that they tend to blend into one giant mass which we call the Milky Way. Stars I've never seen before scream at me with their fire and their desire to be known. Just across the river, patches of light reflect back from the sand dunes along the flood plain. Below the hill lies the small pond that mirrors the sky, while the meager street lights of Boquillas stand sentry over the desert. There is a vague sense of the campgrounds at the base of the hill. Except for these few instances, and barring a moon, one's focus tends to be fixed upon the tiny flickering lights in the sky. 

The stroll back into the darkness of the swamp brings on an almost unsettling peace. The Milky Way is embedded like fog in the black water of the pond, lying in a pool of twinkling lights - like holiday trim. An occasional owl appears in silhouette at the top of a leafless tree along the plankway. The rush of a beaver snaking away into the bush catches your attention. Water bugs create obscure ripples in the pond, barely distrubing the surface, while somewhere on the other side a small fish creates a splash as it feeds on the them. The frogs continue to croak their tune of quiet well into the night, when the pond is wide awake and the human visitors fast asleep.

I believe it was that first time, my first experience of being out in it that tore at my soul and fueled my desire to live in this rugged, barren land. This strange, mystical place. This living desert with its imposing mountains that seem to appear from out of nowhere, and its sleeping creeks that, after centuries of rare and random awakenings, have managed to carve a maze of canyons, each more magical than the others. And then, there is always the promise at the end of each day, when the desert fades to vaguely recognizable shapes and the mountains turn to ghosts on the horizon, that one may gaze for hours upon the surreal sunsets and starry, starry nights of the Big Bend.