Hella Goode is The Fool

The tarnished silver Airstream squats in the desert, a middle finger to my chaotic past - the ex's betrayal, selling my birth center, everything that made me a retired midwife at fifty-three. Salt, my dog, knows something's shifting before I do. She always does. Marfa calls, but I take one big fat detour first. I really wish I hadn't.This desert town deals in more than art installations and public radio. Here, magic has teeth AND babies, and my work has tracked me down at the crossroads.Question is: when there's no such thing as retired, can I not help without loathing myself? It's not my nature to stand back when I'm needed. Can I help without betraying myself? Historically the answer has been no. The desert says yes. I'm not convinced.