So, the sequence of events this morning was reading at 2 a.m. a story by Abe Streep in The New Yorker about greatly expanded plutonium pit production at Los Alamos, then waking at 7 a.m., even without Cowboy 2’s provocation, then seeing the pink sky over the Jemez Mountains and Los Alamos from my bedroom window and then reading an email note about The New Yorker story from my friend Peter Katel, sent at 6:28 a.m. I don’t know what to make of it, except that what I call the Jemez pink is beautiful at dawn and in the evening as well and The New Yorker noted new worries about nuclear warfare. Meanwhile, the Jemez have always been a mysterious and wonderful place, from volcanic eruption days to ongoing geothermal bubblings, to its gentle peaks and straight-growing, vanilla-smelling ponderosa pines to sacred Native American sites. In my book, it’s also a great place to watch Sandhill cranes fly down the Rio Grande in winter, as they have done like clockwork for thousands of years.
dream ranch 