Equinox moonrise. Nearly full. Quiet time. Sixty miles. Changing colors. Changing skins. Looking for love. Good piñon growth. Very many berries. Love and late grass.
Equinox moonrise. Nearly full. Quiet time. Sixty miles. Changing colors. Changing skins. Looking for love. Good piñon growth. Very many berries. Love and late grass.
It is a stage of life when fondness for the Range’s linguine with basil cream sauce keeps me awake most of the night, but I doze the next afternoon to stretch my legs over the mesa in the evening with my young dog and see rain walking over San Felipe and Santo Domingo pueblos, against darkening …
Nothing like: a “you’re stable” report from the good people at Presbyterian oncology, three years out from treatment; a celebratory shredded beef burrito with green chile at the Range afterward; returning home to Cowboy and my books with a view up the camino of thunderheads rising to the north. I will savor those parts of …
dream ranch 