Our group traveled a few miles from Taos one morning, to explore the quaint little New Mexican village of Arroyo Seco. While we waited for breakfast to be served at Abe's cafe, some of us photographed the car across the street, where it sat quietly in an empty dirt lot.

What was the car doing there? What stories could it have told us, of where had it been, what had it seen? These were questions that would not be answered, and maybe it was best that way; some mysteries need or should not be explained, only savored.

Those of us who might survive as long as the car may end up just as rusty, just as colorful, and just as rooted to our final resting place. Perhaps in our perseverance we'll be judged rusty enough and colorful enough to be photographed in our own right. Perhaps that's one of the stories the car was trying to tell us.

In a way, the old car was there for us that morning, having long awaited our arrival with the patience of Job. Does it wait for you, too?