I woke up thinking of a stretch of Highway 395 in California, running up the Owens Valley between the Sierra Nevada and the White Mountains, a ribbon of road on brown earth under blue sky. I once worked there, from Round Valley down to Lone Pine. I remembered how hard it was to leave it the last time I visited, for a trail crew reunion, veering east near Big Pine, to head over Westgard Pass and home, the Sierra and the valley remaining in my view to the top of the Whites.
I drifted in my waking to the Georgia O’Keeffe painting “Road past the view II,” hanging over my head on the bedroom wall. I daydreamed of visiting both places, the Owens Valley and Abiquiu, in spring and concept.
Later, as I made coffee, I saw Cowboy out the backdoor, leaning against the stucco wall, sheltered from the March wind, soaking up sun. Cabezon stood out above him, 50 or so miles west under blue sky. A ribbon of road will get you there.
Where my head takes me. Where I want to be.
(Click to open photos)
Morning arrived bright and clear.
We had breakfast and prepared for the day.
Things started to change.
Glad I washed the windows Friday night.
And I have retired from the water board, mostly tired of my own impatience.
Moonrise from Placitas with Cuchilla de San Francisco and haze over Santa Fe, February 4.
Like a star at night, I spend a moment on the first bird I see in the morning. Today it was a robin sitting in dead piñon as the sun came up. Being a sensible 73-year-old, I dismissed the anthropomorphic tendency to think the bird was doing the same thing as I, observing the glory of dawn. I could only guess what the bird was up to, probably having something to do with food or a mate. But it did seem factual and fair game to recognize the robin as one small bird in the universe, facing the sunrise from the branches of a dead tree.
