NYLON Magazine recently asked people to write about an experience they have had in America.
This was one of mine…
love, yoko

One beautiful spring, sometime in the ’70s, John and I decided to go cross-country from New York to the Gold Coast (as we called San Francisco). We kept driving on the straightest road that went on and on in the middle of a desert. The new moon was already out on one side, and the slowly sinking sun was on the other. The sand was a soft color of pink. The sky was still blue, like in a Magritte painting. The soft breeze smelled faintly like some magical desert flower. We were high on just being together.

At one point, John said, “OK, let’s get out of the car.” So we did. We drew a huge heart on the ground, stood together in it, and had it photographed by our assistant and driver, Peter. I wonder if Peter ever thinks of that evening with us-wherever he is now? I wonder if that photo still exists? If it does, it will be a nice one for our son, Sean, to have somewhere in his loft, house, apartment, or castle he would one day decide to live in.

But then again, that’s his Mom thinking. Did Mom understand that maybe her son would like a photo of him and his family in the desert instead? Yes, probably. But the beauty of the American desert of that evening will always stay with me, meshed with the love we expressed for each other.

I love you, America. Thank you for the experience.