At 2:00, we meet Michael who gave us a tour of Helene Wurlitzer’s house.- "In short -as he told us- it is a lived-in house"and we could feel that she loved everything in it, the gifts that she had been given, the things she chose, from here and from her travels. The house is made of adobe and locally grown wood. It is stunning, the Spanish tapestries and the Navajo rugs, furniture, the placement of windows, chimneys in every room, the paintings of her artist friends, photographs.Michael tells us how much he thinks it's important to remain faithful to her philosophy : Discretion is a rule here, so that all will feel free to create, think, rest or open new ways.

After the visit, I left on foot to see the sunset. The mountains were still pink, becoming bluish as the sun sank lower and lower.When I looked back, the sky was a magnificent vermilion, mauve gray behind the curtain of trees.

Just before nightfall, I arrived at the Hispanic cemetery on Las Cruces Road, which we had talked about with Michael. All its tombs decorated with colorful flowers against the now darkened mountains.Further down the road, I came across a sign “No Trespassing, Taos Pueblo Tribal Land.” Another dead end.Right when I was leaving, Pamela appears in front of the cemetery, having had the same curiosity. We retrace our steps. We return convivially in the night.The stove hums, I draw the curtains, it has become my home here, in New Mexico, so far from home, far from all my family, in this country which remains wild with many places still undomesticated, so to speak.