It was one of those searing October days in the Southwest, where the sweat runs off your body and gathers in a pool inside your shoes, singeing hairs along the way. Meghan and I had been on the road for days with little sleep and few chances for bathing. Our mission for the day was to visit a natural hot springs above Santa Fe. We looked up to the sky for our daily weather report. Downy orbs were racing across the slate sky, signaling the inevitable monsoon. We packed up the Jeep and headed northwest. As quick as a snake bite, the rain came down, beating at its exposed victims. We were traveling a windy road with red-rock on the left side and a low valley on the right with tall Aspen trees climbing the mountainside. The water was coursing off the red-rock cliffs, spawning a bloody river across the road and into the valley below. We gaped at the tall, curly, white bark of the Aspens standing out against the bruised sky and hemorrhaging roads, like a bandage holding the terrain together. We pulled off into a gravel lot, and the rain stopped. The roads all around let off a sauna of steam, clogging our vision. We found a worn path that led us up the mountain. We crossed the rickety foot bridge that spanned the bloody creek, and hiked up the mountain side in search of the hot spring. There were trickles of steamy, bubbling mud sliding down the mountain, leading us to the source. It was a short hike, especially for two girls who had been traversing the landscapes of the southern states for weeks now. The spring was bubbling out from a natural rock formation that seemed to make a perfect hot tub. Our victory was not commemorated in quiet gratification, but rather with a reception of kindred spirits, congratulating our successful conquest of both the brutal weather and tricky topography. Our reward was here at last. We peeled off the heavy wet layers and slid into the tub of hot water. People from all over the world were gathered there to be a part of God’s creation. We soaked our sore, tired bodies and shared our adventures with our new friends. Our bliss was interrupted by a loud strike of thunder nearby, which made me and Meghan leap. We had not noticed the returning storm clouds until they were throwing bolts of lightning and letting out growls of thunder. Then little balls of hail began pelting our backs. The gentle fusion of hot and cold air created a supernatural mist in the air between us. Tiny forms danced in the vapors before our eyes. We sat there, glued to the visions all around, our eyes bulging and our hearts in awe. Was it real or imagined? Sometimes I think about that mystical place in the Southwest, and wonder if it really happened.