Thank god the pueblos still have the west side of the river.
Thank god the pueblos still have the west side of the river.
I will be sorry to see to the stillness of October go, although it lingers in November. Morning approaches the woodpile with golden light. Afternoon clouds drift in the bluest blue. Sun lower, shadows longer, air silent in short-needled trees. Gentle storms soften brittle ground. The sun goes down like whiskey and the moon rises …
Weather change coming. Usually I look for mares’ tails, but these looked like fish bones.
Cooper is not a distance guy, especially at his age. But mostly it’s that thick black coat and his herding dog’s attentiveness. And maybe, like me, a couple of extra pounds. Even on our walks, he likes to take breaks in the shade and take things in. If I want any real exercise these days, …
As we set off dynamite charges on a trail-building job in the High Sierra many years ago, sending huge shards of silvery granite temporarily skyward, an old blaster named Bill said to me, “Look up, John: That’s where the Lord is coming from.” I’m still looking up, but it has been a lot safer since. …
Gentle sunset out Cabezon way after day of rain, softness of colors belying inexplicable disregard for life in the city to the south: Albuquerque. Lilly Garcia, Officer Daniel Webster, RIP. God, what a dumb town. Gritty ain’t the word for it.
It’s life in the fast lane again after a 10-month tangle with cancer. I was up early today to cook breakfast for my stepsister-neighbor Susan and just yesterday had coffee with a bunch of other retired newspaper guys in the heart of what ringleader Jim Belshaw calls the Corrales Metroplex. The gang was talking baseball …
Sometimes rain actually sharpens the mesa view.
dream ranch 