Every morning, right at sunrise, I step out into a backyard that doesn’t look anything like the ones I was used to in Texas.
No grass. Just gravel, a stucco wall, cacti, flowering plants, a couple of trees, and a turquoise lounge chair waiting for the first rays of the morning sun.
Somewhere along the way, it has become my favorite place in Albuquerque.
Which is funny, because Albuquerque itself hasn’t quite stolen my heart.
And that’s been surprisingly hard to admit. Usually, by now, I’ve found a favorite coffee shop, a neighborhood I love wandering, or a place that keeps calling me back for one more visit.
I’ve always been drawn to places with little downtowns to explore, coffee shops where conversations happen naturally, colorful art districts, scenic drives, and streets that make me want to keep wandering long after I planned to head home.
Albuquerque hasn’t been that place for me. Between the summer heat and the slower pace, I’ve found myself spending much more time at home than I expected—and, at first, more than I wanted.
But maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. After months of constantly exploring, driving, and moving from one place to the next, perhaps I needed a little downtime more than I realized.
The mornings, though, have quietly become my favorite part of the day.
For the past two and a half weeks, I’ve been outside by six o’clock, stretching in the first light of the day and savoring temperatures in the sixties, knowing that within a couple of hours they’ll climb into the nineties.
I sit on the turquoise lounger and soak in the sunshine while it is still low in the sky. I watch the hot air balloons float over the neighborhood and wonder if I would be brave enough to challenge my fear of heights in one. Then I water the mismatched collection of flowering pots and the raised bed filled with basil and rosemary, breathing in their fragrance as I look through the gate toward the green grass of the park beyond.
Soon I’m out for my walk.
Some mornings I’d rather linger in the backyard, but I know if I wait, the cool air will disappear. Every morning I notice something I somehow missed the day before—a sunflower that opened overnight, the way the light catches the tops of the cacti, a gate with a metal roadrunner, or a tiny bloom tucked into a corner of the garden.
I love that this rhythm has become second nature. Just something I do every day. I’m not walking as far as I did in Colorado, but between my walks and time at the gym, I’m moving every day and feeling stronger.
And this routine is such a peaceful way to start the day.
I may never fall in love with Albuquerque the way I have with some of the other places I’ve visited this year.
But I think I’ll always remember this backyard at sunrise.
