The Desert Tried to Evict Us Again (But the RV Said Nope)

The Wind Lives Here (We Just Pay Rent)

The desert does not do gentle.

It doesn’t breeze.
It doesn’t drift.
It arrives — like it owns the place
and we forgot to check the lease.

The wind out here has a personality disorder.
One minute: postcard sunset.
Next minute: airborne lawn chairs,
missing dog bowls,
and me chasing a trash can across open land
like a low-budget western.

It rattles the RV so hard
you start mentally apologizing
to every bolt you’ve ever tightened.

I used to hate it.

I’d sit there counting gusts,
waiting for the walls to peel off
and my life to end on a weather report.

But somewhere along the way
the fear turned into rhythm.

The RV rocks at night —
not gently, not romantically —
more like a drunk uncle trying to dance,
and somehow… I sleep better.

Because the truth is:

Nothing fake survives out here.

The wind steals weak plans,
bad attitudes,
and anything not actually secured.
It’s basically nature’s personality test.

City life has locks.
The desert has proof.

The same wind that throws sand in your coffee
also cools a 105° afternoon,
carries music farther than speakers should reach,
and reminds you
you are very small
and somehow very alive.

We didn’t move here for comfort.
We moved here for honesty.

The wind isn’t trying to ruin us.

It’s just asking daily:

“You still sure about this life?”

Every morning we wake up
still here,
still stubborn,
still slightly covered in dust.

Rocked, not broken.

Turns out —
the wind lives here.

We’re just the weird people
it hasn’t managed to evict yet.