I rose this morning to listen to the rain. It’s so rare. I went to sleep as the weather came in, soothed by the sound of the wind, knowing it brought a storm. I discovered on rising a little snow on the Sandias to the south, a little more on the Jemez to the north. The clouds pulled away quickly, leaving thirsty hills behind. The creeks between me and the mountains dried years ago. We’re on edge in the West about how much more snow will come. We’ve been warned there will be less and less. These are our times, when we need to see for thousands of years but still pin our hopes on each day. I swung my tiny camera west to Cabezon. A light show played over the old volcano, reminding me how puny I am.